Radio
by Va Vonne
Summary: Several years after the battle at Hogwarts, a tired Draco Malfoy has just about reached his breaking point. Just as Draco is about to take his life into his own hands, a certain someone comes into it. Can Hermione make him feel once again? HG/DM
1. The Call

**Vonne: **I have, as it so seems, decided to pen another fiction down. And, to bring another new into the mix, I am going to fall under the Draco/Hermione route. Please don't think bad of me for those of you who are not in high spirits with this pairing. I do very much adore Ron and Hermione as a couple. However, I find the Draco and Hermione relationship to be fascinating. There's something about it that is dangerous and interesting all at once. This being said, I do very much adore Draco Malofy. So, that being said, there is another reason for this. Again, the paring is, truth be told, a rather popular one on here. Okay, okay, whatever the reason, I've decided to dabble in it. I'll spare you my unnecessary excuses.

What I _will_ include, however, is a better summary here than the one previously provided. Lord knows how much I despise the little sentence that I can only just squeeze out on the main page. A better and fuller summary is provided below for those of you who, like me, like some sort of longer and more detailed clarification.

**Summary: **Several years after the battle at Hogwarts, a tired Draco Malfoy has just about reached his breaking point. Despised by many and sympathized by some, he has not much going for him, truth be told. However, just as Draco is about to take his life into his own hands, a certain someone comes into his life. So it seems, just as he is about to end his suffering, can one Hermione Granger be the one to make him truly feel once again?

This fiction will start in the present and then go back to the past to explain itself. Please do not hesitate to ask any questions if you feel yourself getting confused; I will be happy to further clarify.

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**Prologue  
The Call**

"Testing, testing, one two three."

In the darkness came a voice that was so loud over the whooshing wind, that it would have been unmistakable if there had been anyone around to hear it. It was a voice that had been, at one point in its life, proud and arrogant and unbreakable, however, the crackling raspy undertone signified that something had gone horribly array. When he tested the Muggle device in the palm of his perspiring hand, his voice broke carelessly and he ran his free hand through his mess of hair, trying again. "If you are listening to this, then you're too late. By the time you can act, I'll already be dead." Overall, considering the surroundings, the man did not seem to fully blend in. While the sky was dark and churning and angry, the tall man was lean and still and obliging; he let the wind move his bow tie, which rest completely undone around his neck. He looked oddly pure in his white button-up shirt, which was rolled up to way past his elbows, and his mop of white blond hair; however, he was everything but. Despite his innocent presence, something desperate and knowing flickered in his eyes and, shakily, he wiped away sweating visage. On the forearm of his free wrist, a certain skeletal mark stood out unquestionably on his pale skin.

He said, "I am currently standing on the edge of the towering bridge nearest the village of Hogsmeade. If you are listening, I'd like you to know everything." The device in which to spoke into was small and black; a small and light two way radio. He cleared his throat and only just loosened his grip on the bridge's pillars. As he spoke, his foot trailed forward. "As I'm sure you know, it has been five years since the battle and no, I am not all right. But you already know that."

He released his finger from the little button and inhaled, looking over the edge of the staggering bridge. Below the water shimmered in the dark and reflected the twisted gray sky ahead of him. It wanted him now, pleaded for him to jump, but he couldn't do it, not just yet. There was still something he'd needed to address. Once again he lifted his quivering finger and pressed down on the button for the second time. With a nervous little laugh, he said almost stiffly, "And since you already know this, I will be merciful and considerably spare you the details."

The scenery around him almost fit the situation perfectly. There was something oddly dark about it and the sky looked as if it were undoubtedly threatening a storm. Dark gray clouds twisted and turned curiously in the sky and lifted the man's hair ever so slightly. In order to give himself something to do, the man busied himself with the task of sweeping his hair back behind his ears. It wasn't as if his hair was long, though it did sit only about two inches below his earlobes. He was, as it so seemed, a man of stone, but if that had been true, why did he feel himself crumbling?

His laughing stopped abruptly and he carried on with a moment of seriousness, "I want you to know that I am sorry, and that it doesn't mean much but I am sorry. It's true that I was absolutely dealt the cards I grew up with. But that doesn't mean I had to play." The man stopped and wondered how long the clouds would only just threaten rain, rather than fully deliver it. He asked himself silently whether or not he thought the person on the other end, if there even was anyone, could hear the swirling sound of the wind.

Once again he said, in case anyone was listening, "testing, testing, one, two."

"Testing, testing." His voice was quivering as he know repeated, "one, two, three."

He sighed next and tried to push his hair back into its proper place, for the wind had once again moved it. He was, as he voice had previous hinted, once a very proper man, highly anticipated by some but undoubtedly overestimated by his father. In particular, all the attention had made the man rather proud and cheeky, and the realization that he was not all this had, in fact, proved rather difficult. He'd spent the remainder of his life trying to figure out what, exactly, he had been. However, it was this that he hadn't quite figured out. Sulky and slumped now, he stood to straighten his posture and continue his last lecture through the little radio. He said through his own heavy breath, "what I want you to know- what I want the world to know- is that I remember every little thing about the battle at the school. I told the media that all I can remember is how tight his shoes were, because I everything else makes me numb. But you know as well as I that that was a lie." He spits with a hint of disgust, "when I got home, the first thing I could think of doing was to burn those shoes."

He continued rambling, this time unable to stop himself. "I don't know why I tell you the things that I do. I've tried to convince myself that it is a merely convenience. Maybe that is true, but I doubt it." He laughed, shaking his head, "I thought for a while it was because you were a good listener. All you ever _do_ is listen."

"As for this _dammed mark,_ it's unfortunately permanent. However," he once again peeked over the edge, "once I jump, I doubt it will concern me anymore." And then he grew comfortable. He crossed his legs at the ankle and slightly leaned backwards. "I don't know if I believe in Heaven or Hell, but I sure hope I don't go to Hell, though I reckon I don't truly have a choice in the matter." He said with a casual shrug, "believe it or not, I've always been pretty spiritual, but I do believe I am rambling."

He paused and chewed curiously on his bottom lip. After a long while he said into the device, "I know you're there."

"I can hear you-- have always heard you, breathing there on the other end." He was desperate now, almost pleading. Through it all, he felt a slight sinking feeling in his heavy chest. He suppressed what seemed to be a little sob and said through clenched teeth. "I know how you've been listening to me carry on about my life since the very beginning, but, once again, you already know that."

To be quite honest, his listener had known quite a lot. And how could they not know? He had been spilling his heart out over the radio for a rather long time over the past couple of months. He'd be admittedly surprised as to what the listener _didn't _know, actually. Whoever they were, wherever they were, they had heard it all. Wizard or muggle (because the last was, of course, quite a possibility), they had known every last bit of it.

The man's face dramatically paled and he smoothed back his blond hair in order to completely compose himself.

He stopped for another moment and then leaned forward emitting a curious whisper. He said anxiously, "_who_ are you?"

There came no answer and the man who was commonly known as Draco Malfoy let his shoulders sink. What did he expect? The intruder had not once opted to speaking. Surely he hadn't been under the impression that tonight they would decide to step forward. However, the listener's coldness rather upset him. Were they truly not about to grant him one last glimpse of mercy before he plummeted to his own death? Had they really intended to decline assistance in his own personal attempt at closure?

He said desperately, "answer me!"

And then he heard it, the breathing on the other end. At first the odd intrusion scared him and his heart jumped several feet. Then, however, he relaxed himself and let the butterflies in his stomach settle. He listened momentarily to the unhinged breaths at the other end and then lost it. With all his might, he thrust the radio over the edge of the little bridge and watched it zoom to through the air. When it hit the surface of the water below, it made a little splash before sinking and then, finally, it vanished beyond sight. Chest heaving, ready to scream, Draco Malfoy stepped once again forward. "You know," he called down to the radio as if the person on the other end could still hear him, "I'm going to do it." But he couldn't help himself from sweating even more violently.

And then it came, something he didn't expect.

Out from the brush stood a tall and lean figure, almost just masked in the absolute darkness. It said nothing, muttered nothing, and then, he noticed something rather familiar. There at it's thin side, was the outline of a shadowy, small, and black radio.

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**Vonne: **I decided to title the prologue after a Regina Spektor song under the same title. I really do love Regina and her music- wonderful stuff. Anyway, please review. I love hearing from you guys and I'm here hoping that this story will take off as much as my other one, "High Hopes Down", which, by the way, is still in the works. I'm sorry that this chapter was so short. I wasn't planning on making it as short as it appeared: which is only somewhere in the 2,000 word range. I promise that the other updates will, of course, be a lot longer. Review, review, review. I love hearing from you.


	2. The Boy Who Lived

**Vonne: **Please tae note that this chapter, and several of the following chapters, take place after the first chapter. Or, so to say, in the 'past'. Remember if you get confused, I'd be happy to help you out with anything. Just let me know. Anyways, thank you a bunch for all the reviews I got on the first chapter. I really appreciate that you have an interest for what's to come.

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**Chapter Two  
The Boy Who Lived **

_Five Months Earlier_

Narcissa Malfoy looked undoubtedly radiant that night. She was staring nervously in the eyes of her mirror's reflection as she slipped one of her diamond earrings through her ear and inhaled. It had been a while since the battle at Hogwarts, but every outing for the Malfoy's only made it seem as if it had happened yesterday. Her nervousness was evident and her chest heaved up and down underneath her elegant dress. She glittered in the candle light that sat glowing on the night stand and, taking one more anxious breath, she let her arms drop, fully analyzing herself for the first time. There was absolutely no doubt that Narcissa truly was a beautiful woman. Her white blonde hair was pinned back neatly and her captivatingly cold eyes were narrow to the point of appearing permanently seductive. She chewed her bottom lip and tilted her head cautiously to one side. In the candlelight, there was no doubt that she was every woman's envy and every man's fantasy, but she had lost the pride that came with it. Looking herself over, she wondered when, exactly, she'd actually could care less.

True, her focus had been taken off her appearance, and it had been for quite some time. And maybe it was because she'd just now found herself to be absolutely lucky. She'd kept her family alive and now, after it all, she could finally breathe. Or, at least, she'd expected to. She stayed put in front of the mirror and then, breaking her dazed glare, there came a quiet knock at the door. "Narcissa," came the voice of her husband, quite quiet. He said, knocking silently again, "are you ready to go?"

Narcissa blinked, almost stunned to be shocked out of her trance. "Y-yes, darling," she said, shaking her head and stepping back from the mirror. "In a minute." However, even from her newly farther spot away from the mirror, she stopped for a second look. On the other end of the door, Lucius Malfoy shifted his weight. What, of all things, did he expect?

He said with a sigh, "I'll be out front when you're ready," she let his prepared posture sink. He'd begun his way back down the long hallway when Narcissa's calling voice stopped him once again.

She said slowly, "is Draco ready?" And Lucius spun around hastily.

"Yes, dear," he lied and made his way back down the hall. Truth be told, he wasn't exactly sure where his son had been in the first place and, to be quite honest, he didn't know if he really wanted to know. As he made his way down the grand staircase, he couldn't help but shake his head. He hadn't been quite sure about his son for a while now; this current uncertainty hadn't been too out of the ordinary. Passing down the stairs, he happened to catch his own reflection. He was a hardened man, an attribute that had always truly defined him. His blond hair tumbled past his shoulders and his fingers wrapped cautiously around the head of his walking stick, one of his most prized possessions. The green eyes of the snake flashed in the glass and, much to his own shame, he reeled back in sudden fear of it. However, once his heart had stopped beating, he shook his head at his own foolishness. What had he left to fear but his own stupidity now? A flash of anger bubbled in his chest and he resisted the urge to call out for his missing son.

Lucius' foot reached the bottom floor and he strode out to the front door, whisking it open quietly. The front yard of the Manor was unquestionably beautiful, but it wasn't the scenery that his cold eyes scanned. He looked, rather unsuccessfully, for his son. It had been his own idea to partake in a family outing and both Draco and Narcissa hadn't said much about the matter. Though he'd half wished they'd have at least attempted to talk him out of it. Though it wasn't like Lucius Malfoy to go back on his original plans and, as he stood waiting for his flaky family, he'd been, as it so seemed, as ready as he'd ever be.

Something in the distance caught Lucius' searching eye and, without any sudden movement, he watched the shadow of his sun, blinding even under the dark of the tree. Under the blinding sun, Draco continued to sit, his legs sprawled out in front of him, and his focus fixated on a book he wasn't actually reading. In appearances, Draco Malfoy's resemblance to his parents was uncanny; his blond hair shone out bright and his features were sharp. Although his eyes were half shut, under his eyelids, his eyes were forever cold and judging. What Draco was truly doing was nothing in particular rather than sitting, a habit that was just beginning to annoy his father. Although, his focus wasn't truly on his father, anymore. And although his selfishness wasn't newfound, it had taken on quite a new meaning. Before he'd relied on his own personal gain and, whatever he had cared about now, he knew any hope towards gaining anything would be almost inevitably impossible.

But even Draco himself wasn't quite sure what his new demeanor had revolved around and, siting up against the large tree, he wondered if he'd ever truly know. Honestly, he hadn't been quite sure about anything over the past couple years of his life. What an odd feeling it was to finally realize all previous beliefs had been nothing but a blatant lie. His eyes stared unblinking at the gorgeous scenery that was his front yard. Not even the pure white peacock that strutted by could break his hardened glare.

Behind him came the crunch of gravel and he turned around sharply and he stood at the view of his advancing parents. They walked towards him arm in arm, looking straight and confident. But not even Malfoy could fake this stance. His stood up straight, dropping his book, and gave a slight nod to his parents as they passed. Silently, Lucius said nervously, "come along, Draco." Their tall son obliged; he bent back down swiftly to yank his book back up from the dewy ground and took his place behind the two. His heart pounded and he tried to mask the butterflies in his stomach. People had wondered, only wondered, what had become of the Malfoys and now it was their time to find out.

The Malfoys, they'd soon see, were alive and thriving, stone-faced and blank as a slate. They'd only narrowly avoided imprisonment in Azkaban and they'd been aware that this wasn't due to popular demand. They'd received death threats and letters of blackmail but they'd managed to keep their backbones. And, after five full years since the battle, they still couldn't find the time to rest. Draco Mafloy wondered silently if they'd truly deserved it. When they neared Hogsmade, Draco buried his face into the pages of his book.

Hogsmeade had been as busy as always, though there was an odd feeling in the air as the Malfoy's made their way through. They passed the whispering crowd with their heads down and when they'd found a vacant tree, Malfoy's heart soared. He could have ran up to it if it weren't for his own self control. Someone said, "yeah, _keep_ walking," and Draco's grip on the edges of his book further tightened. At the edge of the tree, Narcissa said with a sigh, "well, that wasn't so horrible."

But both the men at her side didn't say a word and she nodded knowingly. After a while, Lucius said timidly, "who do they think they are? Yelling things back at us like that?" His pale face had slightly reddened and he stared at the bustling streets of Hogsmeade. It had taken quite a toll on him to even manage sitting down and once he did so, he crossed his big arms across his cloaked chest. For a moment he looked as if he were about to burst, but once Narcissa's hand raised to touch his lumber shoulder, he seemed to slightly deflate.

"They'll come around, dear," she said timidly as she rubbed his shoulder sorrowfully. Her eyes were fixated on her husband and she lifted her hand to lay her blonde head on his shoulder space. For a moment she too stared at the busy streets, but she didn't let her posture shrink. "Just look at the scenery," she said softly, "it is nice to get out finally, isn't it?" When Lucius didn't respond back to her, she gave one last sigh and let her eyes shut.

Draco remained standing, his back straight. For a moment he gazed down at his parents and then he leaned back slightly. He didn't want to be out, didn't want to see what had been going on since the disappearance of the famous Malfoys. He watched his father stare unblinking and his mother attempt sleep. After a while, his father raised his large head. "Have a seat, Draco," Lucius said, giving his son a curious glare.

However, Malfoy didn't act. Instead he replied in return, "Actually, father, if you don't mind I'd like to be excused."

Lucius looked bewildered. From her spot against her husband's shoulder, Narcissa opened both of her eyes and swallowed. She didn't look up, instead she let her husband question their son. "Excused?" Lucius said up at his so, "why on earth do you want to be excused?"

Passing shoppers stared. It hadn't been their first time out in the five years since the battle, but they had never taken the trip out as a family. Though the venture had been wuite a feat for Draco, who had avoided many of the more popular places in the Wizarding World. Sighing carefully, Malfoy adjusted his posture and tried to look undaunted, as if the village was not at all menacing. Draco Malfoy was twenty-two and he still felt the need to ask his father's permission to leave his side. "I'd just like some time to myself," he admitted and his father turned his head back to the crowd.

"They're not going to like it if you run around here by yourself, Draco. Just last week I heard the drunken ramblings around here; they said the entire family's still a menace." He shook his head and his eyes scanned the streets. He repeated the phrase and shook his head with disgust, "A _menace." _Draco stiffened and he looked down at his father with a blank face. While he didn't open his mouth to ask again, he waited for his father to finish up.

Narcissa, however, was the one who came to his rescue. She let her eyes wander up to her son and she nodded slightly before turning back to her husband and placing a delicate hand over his massive one. Draco wasted no time. With his dingy little book held at his side, he took the back alley around Hogsmeade and tried to blend in.

A menace; though true several years back, the thought now was pretty false. Though it didn't stop his father from detesting each and every one of the people who'd believed it. And maybe it was because Lucius still had a heavy amount of pride, but Malfoy loathed the thought for one single reason. There was a great amount of embarrassment that had recently taken to overwhelm him. Malfoy didn't want to be known as a menace, didn't want to be known as anything for that matter. In general, Malfoy's main focus rested on exactly what he'd been trying to be at that very moment-- invisible.

He kept his head ducked down buried beneath the pages and scooted through the massive crowd, even managing to spit out a few apologies as he knocked by. The words inside the prop-like book had jumbled into one big blur and, feet moving fast, he'd hoped to find someplace where he could once again be alone. And then he saw it; there, drawn as if with a stick of black chalk, was the smiling face of someone all too familiar. Harry Potter's smiling face stared down at him happily and scribbled underneath it were the words, "_The Boy Who Lived". _

Malfoy's pathetic stomach churned and all he could do was manage to stare. His mouth hung open and his book almost fell from his grasp. And all the while, the beaming man, known truly as the boy who lived, witnessed the spectacle happily. There was a slight movement as his side and Malfoy looked curiously down. The new stranger was short and young, cheery-faced and matching the sketch of Harry's glorious smile. He looked back at the brick wall and then opened his mouth. Toothily, the little child said happily, "that's Harry Potter!" He rocked forward on his heels and his hands rest innocently behind his back. Stunned and still staring, Malfoy's mouth hung open continuously. "Harry Potter saved the whole world. My mummy said." Then his rocking stopped. When he finally looked up at Malfoy, he said gleefully, "hey, you're about his age now. Do you know him?"

And, despite himself, Malfoy found himself shaking his head no.

"You didn't? Gee," the boy gave the sketch one last keen look, "you should find out about him. He's _everywhere!"_ And then he turned on his heels and walked flouncing from the spot.

For a moment Malfoy stayed at a stand still. Something inside him gave a little twitch. And it wasn't that he despised Potter and all that he'd done, because that wasn't it at all. It was the sheer shame that had made him want to chuck something at the drawing. Because the sketch was drawn undoubtedly with magic, a permanent reminder of Harry, who had saved them all. And while the years would pass and the times would change, the Harry sketch would remain forever present as would the deep Dark Mark on the forearm of Draco's skin.

Something made him extremely grateful for the thick sleeve of his peacoat.

Then he feverishly composed himself and continued his drawling stride, pressing his eyes back into the inside spine of his book. He pulled up the hood of his coat up and around the crown of his head and tried to continue on unnoticed. As he passed by, the watching eyes of the boy who lived followed him wearily.

Hogsmeade was back up and running ever since the battle had ended and everything seemed to be pretty serene. There was a rush of cool air about the village that seemed uplifting and free- as if the horrible event hadn't truly happened. Everyone seemed too busy with themselves to even notice Draco Malfoy, wandering aimlessly with his tail between his legs. He didn't quite know himself what had made him want to explore the village, but he truly hadn't seen it this up close for five years. Then, it was cloudy and deserted. Gone were the days of evening walks and window shopping. Then, nobody went around Hogsmeade unless it was truly necessary. Of course, the curfew had pretty much prevented such an outing. Maybe it was in celebration of the new times that Hogsmeade had been so busy. Every breath seemed an intake of the new dawn, the fresh new era.

But Draco wasn't quite paying much attention as to where he was going. So much time had he spent burying his face into his book, that he didn't see the man in front of him come lumbering his way. When the two collided, the flimsy little book finally slipped from his grasp and the blow forced Draco to one side. He reeled to the left and collided with the side of another brick building. Instantly Draco's ghostly pale face reddened and he sat on the ground where he'd fallen for a moment, slightly astounded that the fall had happened in the first place. But when he'd heard the footsteps clambering towards him, his senses kicked back into gear.

He kept his head facing downward and scrambled around the floor for his book. When he didn't manage to locate it, he forgot the thing in his anxiety and jumped up quickly. In his foolish rush, his heavy hood almost slid off his bobbing head. However, he didn't have much time to outrun his intruder. The man he'd only just collided with was in front of him quickly and his hands whisked out quickly to Draco's shoulders. He whisked away he sweat on his brow and said sincerely, "oh, hey, my deepest apologies, sir." But under the cover of his thick hood, Draco averted his eyes and stared cautiously on his polished shoes. He shook his head, but the man didn't seem to step away. He pressed the issue further and bit his quivering lower lip. "Hey," he said once again, stepping slightly forward, "your book."

Draco extended his hands and took the thing from the stranger meekly. "Thank you," he said politely.

But the man didn't scamper away to finish his nice evening outside. He bent down slightly and tried to peer underneath Draco's looming hood. He let his free hand slip off of the sleeve of Draco's peacoat and raised a thick brow, "are you OK?"

"Yes," Draco said hastily, his chin down low. "Yes, I'm quite alright, thanks." And the stranger didn't have much time to see for himself. Draco stumbled from the man, his book cradled like a baby, and took back off down the street, silently cursing at himself for trying to wander in the first place.

He had stumbled far enough down the road in time to miss the stranger wonder aloud, "Draco _Malfoy?" _

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"That was...." Narcissa said to her husband about their trip out in a soothing voice, "refreshing."

"It was humiliating," Lucius said, frustration rising in his otherwise confident voice. He walked at the side of his beautiful wife, but his eyes were directed straight ahead.

"Darling," Narcissa soothed, "it's perfectly normal for a family to take an outing together." And then, when her husband's stiffness didn't soften, she smoothed her hand on his broad shoulder and said sweetly, "they will warm up to us, dear. It takes some getting used to."

Lucius remained stiff and quiet. As they passed through the slightly mellowed streets of Hogsmeade, he finally replied back timidly, "I don't _need _them to get used to our family. I don't want to make friends with them." And as they continued down the street, he shook his head from one side to another. His blonde hair he'd tied back restlessly.

Narcissa's soft voice did not break. She nodded at her husband and then seemed to chew slowly on her bottom lip, as if considering trying to talk sense in her husband in the first place. She said with a little shake of her head, "we don't have to make friends with them, dear, we have our own friends. It would be nice, though, to have an even more relaxing family outing sometime. We could always give it a try, Lucius. Even if we don't associate ourselves with them." But Narcissa didn't have any strong feelings towards the notion either way. Harry Potter had helped saved the life of her one and only son and these were his people. His people, the ones so happy and gleeful on the streets of Hogsmeade, didn't seem so bad once she'd had some time to accurately think about it.

But her husband didn't seem to be considering. He shook his blond head as well and when he finally spoke, it was out of pure detest, "Since when is it so much to ask that a husband and wife and their son---" But he was cut off by his newly frozen wife. She stopped walking and let her gaze drift back up to her agitated husband.

"Son?" She said, and her long blonde hair slid down in front of her pale forehead. "Lucius? Where is Draco?"

The bond between the two broke; Lucius let his hands slip from underneath Narcissa's thin little arm and he darted out fearfully deeper into the streets. All eyes gazed up at him. However, only this time did he choose to ignore them. With his cold eyes scanning the crowd, he felt a fleeting flutter of fear in the core of his panting chest.

Lucius spun around, his eyes wide and his hair whipping around his shoulders. For a moment he stared gaping at the streets and then he broke free from his wife's grasp. He lumbered back out into the streets, trying to avoid contact with its inhabitants, and whirled around in the middle of it. For a moment he considered calling out, but at the looming eyes of those around him, he couldn't help but remain absolutely silent. Narcissa was at his side shortly, her hands inching up her husband's broad shoulders. "Lucius," she said in a calm voice, "Lucius. Mabybe he's gone home. Maybe--"

"Maybe someone found him alone out there!" He said furious, and he gave each one of the passersby a menacing glare. "Maybe we shouldn't have let him wander..."

But Narcissa's voice had taken an accepting tone. She mulled over her husband's possibility and then dropped her eyes. "Lucius, he's twenty-two. He'll find his way home." And when her husband's chest only rose and fell anxiously, she placed her head once again on his shoulder and led him away from the busy village. "He'll be OK, dear." And though she said it so convincingly, neither of the two believed it as they strode from the village carefully and out of sight.

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**Vonne: **Review! :) I'll update ASAP.


	3. Hogsmeade After Hours

**Vonne: **Thank you repeatedly for all the interesting reviews. I love hearing from all of you about your opinions on the chapter, as well as this fiction as a whole. On this fiction I have decided not to respond to the reviews on the main page for the majority, but there will always be times when I might answer your question straight on here- if you have anything about the fiction to ask me. That being said, please excuse my writing in this if you feel that it got a bit rushed towards the end. I had a hefty amount of it written and then when I tried to save it, the page had failed to load, leaving me with hardly about one third of what I'd had penned down. Trust me, it was _very_ frustrating. So, I tried to include as much as I could remember back into this chapter. Please, please, excuse me if it doesn't make much sense. If this has happened to you, then I am sure you are fully aware of my frustration. If not, you do not wish to know. Anyway, here begins what I hope will be a satisfactory chapter three.

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**Chapter Three  
Hogsmeade After Hours**

Whatever had possessed Draco to wandering off had left him entirely now. He was sitting across the bar in a low key pub, his eyes bloodshot and unbearable. With a flick of his wrist, he waved over the tall bartender, a hefty man who had kept his eye on Draco the entire night. He didn't say anything, but only just waved his hand and the man lifted his wand in the air instinctively. The large bottle of whiskey was instantly airborne and it hovered over to Draco's glass, pouring itself steadily.

The pub was not a place Draco had ever been to. It was small and dark and the only essence of light were the flickering candles that floated overhead. Grateful for this lack of light, Draco had been finally able to stroll into a place with his head up, though his small burst of reassurance didn't last long. He'd scooted himself over the bar and ordered one single drink. What he hadn't planned on was the ample amount of empty glasses that now surrounded him. He hadn't even remembered ordering all the drinks in the first place, but the look on the bartender's curious face seemed to confirm that they were undoubtedly his.

He downed his newest glass with a quick gulp and wiped away the remainder of the drink with the back of his coat sleeve. Wincing slightly, he let his eyes scan the small little pub. Its inhabitants were clustered around little tables. Most were keen in their drinking, clanging glasses and rambling on drunkenly with cheerful faces and rosey noses. Draco reached his fists to his eyes and rubbed them hazily. With a second flick of his wrist, he called for yet another glass.

The bartender said to him once the guests cleared away, "I think you've had enough." Draco had never heard such a phrase before; and, even though he was unquestionably drunk, it still managed to sound almost too cliche. However, Malfoy didn't have to utter another word. He dug from his pocket a thick wad of cash and slid it in front of him towards the bartender. Without hesitation, his glass was filled quickly to the very rim.

Draco Malfoy had only been drunk once before in his entire twenty-two years of life. It was several nights after the battle had ended. He had been sitting in front of the fireplace when he'd decided he'd wanted to go out. And when he didn't get the permission from his father, he snuck out the back window when he was absolutely sure that they had fallen asleep. Then, he'd been foolish enough to leave the house without a cloak. Then there had been celebration nonstop on the streets of Hogsmeade. Banners hung from every building and fireworks burst boldly in the night sky. He'd found a little bench at the end of the street and sat there with his legs at his chest, both resentful and sorry for himself. Someone from the crowd shouted, "Long live Harry Potter!" and Malfoy almost fell off the bench itself.

And then it came flying through the air at him; a ripe red tomato hit him across the left shoulder and splattered all over his pure white shirt. He jumped up, stumbling over the edge of the bench. He whipped around, dumbfounded, by the little table and pushed the remainder of the tomato off of his shirt sleeve. With a shaking hand, he slid the stray spots off of the side of his face. A large, red stain now rest splattered at his side. Around him came a chorus of disembodied voices, screaming, "you belong in Azkaban, you dodgy prat!"

If it weren't for his absolute shock, he might have yelled something in return, tried at least to defend himself. However, he could only stand, staring at the darkness with such a stunned expression that the group of tomato throwers had walked away unidentified. He'd wasted no time. How he'd gotten the alcohol had been a miracle on its own, though it wasn't exactly hard. He'd nabbed packets of liquor that sat around the grounds, left untouched at the celebration. He wasn't exactly sure how he'd managed to get the hefty amount he'd had managed to carry in the alleyway back to his house. But when he crept back to his house and overlooked it in the light of his room, he didn't seem to care much.

He sipped the liquor while he stood in front of the clear glass mirror, watched his throat bob up and down with each gulp. Pacing the floor, he drank bottle after bottle and when he couldn't stand anymore, he let himself sink to the ground and stare at the remaining glasses. He drank with his back slumped up against the looming wall of his grand bedroom. He drank until he finished every last drop, until he couldn't remember why he'd gotten the orange red stain in the first place.

The one and only time he had ever been drunk in his life, he had done so alone. Thinking back on it now, Draco wasn't sure why he'd wanted to go out so badly.

He downed the new drink so fast that the bartender hadn't even begun his stride away from him before he motioned again for another drink. When it had been filled once again to the top, Malfoy leaned over and stared at his reflection in the shameful liquid; a squiggly version of himself stared back and Draco reeled away, moaning that of disgust. With a little groan that signified that he'd perhaps felt sorry for himself, he leaned forward once again, supporting his throbbing head with the palms of his clammy hands.

However, something tall and rather large slid in next to him. The intruder, as it so appeared, seemed to wait for Draco to react to his presence, but when he received nothing more than a miserable moan, he leaned towards the blond boy and tried anxious to catch sight of his pale and morose face. Not fully noticing, Draco didn't look up to see the newcomer shift his gaze back up to the front of the pub, blinking with a confused new outlook. He managed to choke out a laugh of disbelief and then, shaking his massively square head, he turned back again towards Draco, a look of utter shock on his pale face.

"_Draco_?" He said with a simple little stammer, "Draco _Malfoy?" _At the sound of his name, Draco rose his blond head and faced the stranger blankly. However, the newcomer only seemed to relish in the boy's sudden attention. He beamed ever so surely and stared back at the drunken Malfoy with absolute shock.

Malfoy's face seemed to drain of any color he'd previously had left. He leaned forward, a slight swagger about his being, and appeared as if the large Goyle had just appeared before his very eyes. He said back at him with a dry throat as if he himself didn't believe it either, "G-Goyle?"

Goyle's face broke out in an instant smile. He nodded eagerly and his hands moved around excitedly in the air space of the dingy little pub. "I _knew_ it!" said the newly enthusiastic Gregory Goyle, his hand flying up to slap himself on his gigantic forehead, "I absolutely knew it! But then again, you had that humongous hood pulled down over your entire face, didn't you?" He extended a hand out and patted his old friend on his arched back. In all his jubilance, Goyle didn't seem to take notice to the drunken state of his former best friend. "At first I was absolutely positive, you know, when I'd first bumped into you. But then when you just walked away, I wasn't quite sure."

But Draco seemed almost unable to grasp the surprise meeting. He looked flustered as he spoke next, "H-how..."

Goyle was still in his excited mist of talking. He ran a hand through his short mass of bristly hair and leaned forward, "how have you been, mate?"

This time around, Draco's silence seemed to, for the first time, grab his attention. He sat momentarily looking his friend up and down and then tilted his head to one side, as if only just fully analyzing him. He looked almost sorrowfully at the glass next to Draco and then his shoulders sunk wearily. His eyes seemed to lock into Draco's glossy ones and it seemed that he'd only just noticed how red the tip of his nose truly was. He chewed the bottom of his thin lip carefully and said with fully inquiry, "since when did you start drinking?"

Malfoy let out a little hiccup and he shrugged his shoulders cluelessly. His eyes flickered back to his full drink and he said rather bashfully, "Dunno." But when he looked back up to meet the eyes of his friend, he said with a goofy smile, "but it's great. I think should do it more often." His chest rose up once again in yet another little popping cough and bit down lightly on his own lower lip with the entire row of his front teeth. "Want anything?"

"Er," Goyle said, raising a thick eyebrow, "no, mate, I stopped drinking just about four years ago."

Malfoy's expression was a mix of utter confusion and pity. He shook his head as if he truly felt bad for his friend and responded seriously, "now why on _earth _would you go and do a bloody thing like that?"

Goyle's body almost instantly deflated. With a slightly defeated glare back at the tall bartender, he cocked his head towards the sparking glass of hard liquor. "How many has he had this evening?"

The graying old man only merely shrugged, "I have no idea," he said as if this sort of thing was a typical every day event, "I'd begun to loose count about," he looked up towards the clock on the wall ahead and said with a direct amount of certainty, "an hour and a half ago."

Nodding, Goyle turned back loyally to his friend and watched him reach for the glass and pour it feverishly down his throat, downing it in a matter of sheer seconds. He watched almost breathlessly and then seemed to mull the situation over carefully. Malfoy had taken to shaking his head back and forth and then, as if the swift motion of it had caused him a rushing headache, he slid off of the barstool with a sudden loss of balance. Goyle didn't say another word, but rather he continued to watch Draco regain his steady stance and then lean over the bar as if he were attemtping to reach something beyond it. However, instead of trying to prance directly over it, he slumped his upper torso down on top of it and buried his visage into his arms. Face down on the slippery bar, Draco let out a long and drawling groan. Rather slowly, he said back to the pale Malfoy, "Draco? Draco, can you stand up? I need you to stand up, OK?"

But Malfoy did no such thing. Instead, he lifted one of his hands from underneath his throbbing skull and motioned at his empty glass for another refill. Goyle's eyes widened and he almost choked on his own spit. He stood up from his own seat and leaned forward to knock down the pleading hand of his friend. "Oh, no you don't, mate," he said and then he thrust his hand into his trouser pocket, retrieving whatever the remainder of Draco's bill had been. He thrust the coins quickly atop of the surface of the bar and looped one of his massive arms underneath Draco's, lifting him into somewhat of a wobbly stance.

With Draco pitched up against his side, Goyle led the way out of the dimly lit pub and, once he'd brought his stuttering friend out into the middle of the street, allowed him to lean back up against the building's brick wall to steady himself. The nightlife at Hogsmeade had just begun to die down and the last of the late night guests were beginning to retreat back to their homes. They gave Draco and Goyle befuddled glances as they passed, but carried on unknowingly all the same. When he was sure that the majority of the stragglers had gone on their way, Goyle gave Malfoy another inquisitive look over. He shook his head slowly and then let out a large exhale, his eyes finding Draco's captivating ones. However, it was Draco who was the first of the two to speak. He tilted his head to one side and whispered all too softly, "how do you do it?"

For a moment Goyle stood silently, wondering if he'd heard his friend correctly. But once he'd been sure what Draco had asked him, he wasn't entirely sure on how to answer. He ran his hand through his stubby hair once again and asked, "how do I do what?"

"You know," Draco looked somewhat aggravated, as if he felt somewhat too embarrassed to explain. Wrinkling his nose slightly, he seemed to try his hardest not to slur, "how do you manage to go out. I mean, you saw me earlier this afternoon, you said, right? Goyle, that was hours ago. How do you stay out for so long?"

"How do I get out? Draco," Goyle said, his shoulders shrinking, "Draco, it's been _five _years."

Although Draco didn't seem to see how that had made any difference. He said with a complete tone of seriousness, "they'll throw _fruit_ at you, you know." Now it was Goyle's turn to stand, utterly confused. Nodding carefully, Draco continued his mumbling speech matter-of-factly, "You've got to watch out for that. Comes out from nowhere."

For a moment Goyle seemed to take it all in; his drunk friend, the view of Hogsmeade after hours. The sinking feeling in Goyle's massive chest signified that he'd truly hoped his friend had managed to keep himself composed over the last several years. He didn't say a word, but instead kept his eyes locked on Draco's sweating face. Though after a moment's time, neither of the two had thought of anything much to say. They stood in their own form of bitter quietness and then Goyle shifted his weight nervously. At his friend's perplexed silence, Goyle let himself ramble. "Draco, those five years really got me thinking, you know? I mean, _really_ got me thinking and, I reckon all that thinking was good for me. My father was a raging lunatic. I don't even remember much about his funeral expect that he died an old man, bitter and resentful. I don't even know what I was thinking back then. Blimey, it seems like _centuries_ ago."

As if he'd been attempting to lunge forth and rest a supportive hand on his friend's burly shoulder, Draco leaned forwards, but missed his shot by a good mile. He stumbled in his drunken state and his forehead collided into Goyle's broad shoulder with a little moan. Goyle looked down at Malfoy, suddenly shocked and aware as to whether or not to pull him off. But with his face pressed into Goyle's wide chest, Draco said muffled, "I've been thinking too, Goyle."

With a tiny hint of newfound hope, Goyle raised his eyebrow. He looked down at the top of Malfoy's strikingly blond hair and asked quietly, "you have?"

Still leaned up against Goyle's front, Malfoy only nodded. "Alright," Goyle said with a little smile. He helped Draco back up off of him and then grabbed his friend's thin arm, throwing it around his own shoulder with a slight grunt. Although Goyle was almost several inches taller than the lean blond, he bent down at the knee and gently swiped Draco's hefty peacoat from his grasp. At the absence of his coat, his hand fell loosely to his thin side and he gave a slight laugh at his own awkward footing.

Goyle watched Draco as he swayed on the ground for a longer than a moment and then continued his infant-like walking. His hazy eyes looked around the empty alleyway for a moment and then, just as he seemed to have spotted something, he strode forward with one last bemused and pathetic giggle. "Goyle," he whispered, eyes wide, "did you _see_ that?" He began his drunken sway towards a rather tiny object at the end of the alley, his head cocked to the side in full curiosity.

But Goyle merely shrugged. Letting his head flop back, blank without interest, he said wearily like a child being dragged on a shopping outing, "Draco, I don't see anything." But the blond continued forward and, once he'd reached the far end of the alley, he swooped down and brought the little black thing up. He analyzed it restlessly and when he'd managed to stumble back to Goyle, the little thing keeping hold on just an ounce of his attention. When he came within several inches of Goyle's front, he extended his hand out barely and let the little object flash in the night's light. "What is it?" Goyle asked, though his voice was flat with lack of apathy.

But when Malfoy only shrugged, Goyle leaned in and pried the black thing from his thin fingers. "A two way radio?" He asked, arching an eyebrow, "this is a Muggle toy. Why on earth would this be around here?" He tried looked around the alleyway and prepared to hurdle the radio back down the depths of the alley. But Draco made a quick move towards it and whisked it from Goyle's thick hands before he could even begin to reel backwards. "You want this?" Goyle said, his brow arched in curious disposition. Draco, red in the face, nodded vibrantly yes.

"OK," Goyle said again, looping Draco's thin arm around his neck once more, "let's get you home."

**-------------------------------------------------**

With the slender body of Draco perched at his side, Goyle had led the two of them out of the village and down the streets. They'd wandered in that lopsided fashion through the back of allies, and past the yards of sleeping houses. It had been, considering the circumstances, a rather silent night, though even Goyle couldn't flush out the drunken ramblings of Draco Malfoy. Up against his friend, Draco's mouth ran on about pubs, Hogsmeade, and drink all together. But when Goyle was sure he'd mutter, "I mean, who throws a _tomato? Honestly?" _he'd entirely stopped listening.

They had just about made it though the shrubbery that rest like an emerald hiding place in front of Malfoy's grand home. In the night under the moonlight, the Malfoy Manor looked large and daunting and just as the two neared the two large kissing gates, Goyle unraveled Malfoy's arm from around his massive neck and stretched himself back out. "How are you parents?" Goyle said, once they'd engaged in a long stare at the place. He watched Malfoy sniff noisily and attempt to walk forward, his arms held slightly outward as if he were on the small exterior of a balance beam.

"Fine, thanks," he said with slight hurry, as if he truly did not want to further discuss the matter. "They're going to be pretty upset once I go in there."

Goyle nodded with a smirk, "oh, there's no doubt about it. That's pretty inevitable."

Malfoy let out another slight groan. Once he'd reached a satisfactory point in front of Goyle, he lifted his left arm and whipped his runny red nose with the sleeve of his nice white shirt. He analyzed the sleeve and then, he brought his arm back down to his side and asked nervously, "how do I look?"

"Ah." Goyle gave Malfoy one last look up and down. To be honest, Malfoy appeared to be exactly what he was at that moment-- a swaying drunk. His once perfectly slicked back hair had come undone, several individual pieces hanging in front of his sweaty forehead. His white button up shirt was rolled up at one sleeve, revealing his Dark Mark, and the other one seemed to hang loosely off of his other. His eyes were red and wide and bloodshot. The top several buttons at the neck of his shirt had come undone and half of the collar lolled off of his pointed shoulder. The bottom of it was only semi-tucked into his black trousers. The matching black tie around his neck looked almost knotted at the middle of his front and rest there uneven. "To put it nicely," Goyle said, wincing slightly, "you'd better be a pretty good liar."

At Goyle's honest revelation, Malfoy straightened his posture at once. He raised his shaky hands and slumped his hair back into its usually neat place. His hands then found his tie and rearranged it feverishly. He buttoned the top of his shirt back up and took to hastily stuffing his shirt back underneath his leather belt. He slid the sleeve back down and concealed the mark on his pale forearm. Then he whipped his dark peacoat back over his shoulders and rubbed the tip of his nose, as if to try and rid himself of the red color. He swallowed hard and then flashed his friend a nervously guilty glance, expecting him to take back his words at once. Malfoy's awaiting stance slumped, his hands now deep inside his pockets. With his eyes locked into Gregory Goyle's, he said honestly, "well, since when have I ever not been a good liar?"

Even Goyle couldn't help himself. He laughed, shaking his head and watched Draco spin on his heels, walking dizzily towards his massive house. He seemed to concentrate on each foot as it was brought in front of the other. And then, earnestly, Goyle called forward, "Draco! Hey, Draco!" Once again Malfoy whirled around on the spot. He looked back at Goyle with glazed over eyes and tilted his head drunkenly to the side. "Watch yourself, OK?"

But Draco didn't stay to chat. He lifted his long and thin finger and pointed it back at Goyle before turning back around and beginning his stagger towards the manor. He stood, unsure, by the large front doors momentarily taking in the scene. He breathed in, his chest rising, and then pushed them open.

The darkness of the house seemed to come as a surprise to him. Grateful, he pressed his back up against the doors and twisted the lock at the front. He resisted the urge to slide down the large doors, but in his hurry, he began his tip-toeing along the marble flooring. However, his anxious glide had stopped all too quickly; through the arch in the wall the glowing light of a single candle lit up the otherwise dark living room.

The voice of his father made his heart stop cold. Lucius Malfoy called out to his son with an emotionless tone, "Ah, Draco. How nice of you to join us."

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**Vonne: **Reviews make me :)  
My plan is to update 'High Hopes Down' very soon. Keep a look out for it.


	4. News Worthy

**Vonne: **Thank you all for all the interest in this story. I keep getting notifications about how many of you put this as a favorite already or on alert. However, I would truly love hearing feedback from each and every one of you. I would be so excited to hear any sort of response from you. Something simple is even appreciated. That way I am motivated to update more. I do have a requirement of reviews for each chapter. Yes, I've already had complaints on this. And I'm sorry if any of you are annoyed by it. Please don't hesitate to consider that this requirement helps me in a lot of ways. That way I am also given time to write each chapter, and it also makes me feel like writing it at all is worth while. Don't worry, I am currently satisfied with the reviews that I currently have. I appreciate all of your feedback, and I can not wait to continue hearing from you.

So, sorry it took me so long to update. The reviews wasn't exactly the reason why it took me so long. I started school and I've been rather busy. So, it may be smart to consider updates to occur on the weekends from now on. Even though, there will of course be instances where I will submit a chapter even sooner than that.

Anyways, that being said, here is the over-prolonged chapter four.

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**Chapter Four:  
News Worthy**

Something about Hermone Jean Granger seemed to sparkle; there was brightness in her great smile, captivity in her stare, and radiance in her glowing posture. Sure it had been five straight years since the battle at Hogwarts, but she had undoubtedly still got it. In fact, her brilliance wasn't the only thing she had remained in touch with since the end of the entire ordeal. With a solid book in one hand and her wand levitating a pot of steaming hot tea in the other, she proved unquestionably to be still capable of multitasking. Ever so gently, she lowered the hovering pot over the table from the marble counter and let the tea pour fountain-like into the little delicate tea cup on the table's smooth surface. Then, finally looking away from the pages of her book, she tilted her head proudly and considered her work; the precious tea cup sat awaiting her patiently, not a visible drop in sight had spilt anywhere around it.

"Gracious," said a voice behind her admirably, "you know, Hermione, I always did admire your work." The clipping sound of footsteps came from back around her and Ron strode slowly into her sight, putting a familiar face to the voice. He lifted his own wand and once again the pot rose up from the table top and flew back off towards the kitchen. "But you're in a public diner. You could have just asked the waitress to get you some more tea if you wanted some." However, Ron then only shrugged, teasing, "then again, I know you too well. You would never pass up a chance to show off."

Hermione looked bewildered, clearly not expecting Ron as a visitor. She opened her mouth and then closed it, the book now floppy between her loose fingers. However, she let her eyes narrow as Ron lowered himself to the seat directly across from her, smirking. Shaking her head meekly, she said with a happy confusion, "of course, Ronald. How did you know?"

"How could I not know?" Ron said, not letting go of his goofy smile. He joked, but he could not seem to let his gaze drop off of her, "I've learned over the years what a pompous little witch you can really be. You're always trying to stand me up, you know that?"

"Oh?" Hermione leaned backward and raised a thick eyebrow. She placed the book right beside her on the cushioned bench and squared her shoulders. With a tilt of her own head she asked him playfully, "and how am I currently doing?"

Ron's facial expression did not fade. Rather, it seemed to intensify as he brought himself forward, whispering coltishly, "exceptional, as always."

Ron Weasley looked as if he was in the middle of something important. He had on a brown suit, and a rather nice one at that. And although his hair was messy, it was done in such a way that it had looked presentable for the time being. He carried his own brown briefcase in one hand and a paper bag in the other. Under the crook of his arm was a large copy of the morning paper. Of course, Ron's visit was not something that she'd been expecting. In fact, she hadn't been expecting him for several more days; he and George had just gone out of the country to conduct more research for the shop. In fact, George himself had said that their business out of the country was absolutely necessary and far too important to miss. Hermione tilted her head and looked Ron over inquisitively, however when she couldn't find the answer to his early arrival back in his face, she asked aloud, "Ron, what are you doing here?"

"We finished early, George and I," he said and he dove underneath the table to where he'd placed his paper bag. When he'd emerged to once again meet Hermione, he presented the bag in front of her on the table and withdrew a tiny black box. When he'd had the thing open, his freckled hands went instantly for one of the many tiny viles inside. "Lust potion," he exclaimed excitedly with a glistening wink, "it is a lot more useful than a love potion. Mind you, no matter what someone looks like, the poor bastard who they trick into downing even a drop of this won't be able to keep his hands off of them." Hermione only raised her brow up further and Ron chuckled, "I knew you wouldn't be a fan."

Hermione stared back at him, questionably unsure of what to respond with next. Ever since he had ended their three year relationship, she had been constantly undecided on how exactly to respond back to him, an annoying habit which she couldn't quite seem to break. Though it wasn't due to the fact that she was entirely over him, because she was, but rather that she dwelled mainly on the notion that she'd tried to make their interactions less awkward. Hermione chewed her bottom lip and, finally, she said back, "you know me so well."

Still, it wasn't that she was angry about his appearance back so soon, in fact she had been long awaiting to see him again. It had been rather lonely in the house with just Harry, not that Hermione didn't consider him to be good company. However, she'd rather grown attached to it being the three of them together. On that note, she had quite missed Ron during his time away and, even after all that they had been through, she would always feel herself strongly attached with him, because they would always remain inseparably close.

The two stared back at each other as if trying to put back the pieces of a puzzle until Ron, who glanced down suddenly at the paper, broke their gaze. "Did you hear the news?" he asked her, and when she shook her head no, he appeared to be truly surprised. With a baffled expression, he plucked the paper from under his arm and held it up eagerly, "don't you read the paper?"

Hermione made a disgusted face, "I don't read anything but _The Quibbler_, Ron, you know that."

A new and thrilled look overtook Ron's face. He flipped the newspaper over to the front page and slid it across the table towards Hermione's chest. However, she didn't look down at it. Instead she waited for Ron to tell her to go on before she let her eyes drop. The headline read in big bold letters:

**FINALLY OUT OF HIDING?  
THE MALFOYS' FIRST VISIT TO HOGESMEADE AFTER FIVE YEARS**

Hermione's hair fell down slightly from behind her ear. Reaching to bring it back, she said timidly, "what is this?"

Across from her, Ron's face utterly fell. As excited as he'd been before, his glee had noticeably vanished. Ron's shoulders sunk and with an oddly disappointed tone of voice, he said back to her, "what do you mean 'what is this'?" When Hermione remained utterly silent, he added, "you were here, were you not? I mean, I get back home and I happen to miss something like _this?_ Hermione, tell me you know something-- anything-- about this."

In all honesty, Hermione wished she had heard of the Malfoys' family outing earlier. She wondered why she had wanted to know more about the subject so badly, however, she hid her actual interest from the redhead across from her. Her visage took on a blank cover and, once again, Hermione only lifted her shoulders. Flatly, she replied, "what's there to know?"

"What's there to know? Hermione, this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about!" At once he only just seemed to realize that they were in a public place. He leaned forward and lowered his voice as his eyes scanned the diner cautiously, "Draco Malfoy and Mummy and Daddy Death Eater!"

"So?" Hermione said, taking her focus to her steaming cup of tea. She lifted the little teacup and sipped it quietly. "It's been five years, Ron. Maybe they _should_ get out some." Hermione shifted slightly on her bench. Her fingers reached back to her own little book and she tilted her head to one side. Sighing, she said back to her friend, "Ron, what is this all about?"

Ron's eyes flickered back to his paper. Draco Malfoy's family moved solemnly on the cover. Narcissa and Lucius strode through Hogsmeade in the front, their arms linked through one another. Their son trailed off slightly distant at their backs. However, his attention wasn't on the staring crowd around them, but rather buried in a book, his face pale and ghost-like. At Hermione seemingly uninterested tone, Ron stiffened, "I thought you would have liked to read about something like this, that's all."

Hermione sighed once again and she let her chest sink back down miserably, turning her head to Ron's paper that still sat on the table in front of her. The picture of the Malfoy's moved like a motion picture and then started itself over again. They were as captivating as they'd always been, but something seemed amiss. Hermione pushed her tea aside slowly and neared the moving photograph. Narcissa and Lucius' son looked absolutely oblivious to the cameras and faces closing in all around him. Draco Malfoy's face was almost completely hidden behind the thick hood of his dark coat.

"What bothers me is that you _are _interested in it. This is tabloid stuff, Ron. Don't you think it's about time the Malfoy's left their house anyway? There's a reason why they escaped imprisonment in Azkaban; the Ministry knows that." Hermione watched Ron's face flicker with an odd little let down; he'd truly thought Hermione would be as fascinated with the breaking news as he had been. She shook her head, hoping instantly to somewhat lighten his spirits. "It's not that I'm not intrigued, Ron." And she extended a hand out towards his own limp one, "I'm just trying to put this all behind me, you know? If I were the Malfoys', I'd want to do the exact same thing." Ron's saddened mask did not fade. He instead nodded solemnly and reached out for the paper once more. However, Hermione kept her hand tight on top of his. With a sincere expression, Hermione cooed, "Maybe you should leave the paper with me."

Eyebrows raised, Ron froze. Underneath Hermione's palm, his own fingers retracted. "Why?"

"Ron," Hermione said, rubbing her thumb back and forth on top of Ron's own hand, "we all need to let go, too."

At once Ron's hand retracted from underneath Hermione's. He looked at her bewildered for a moment and then shook his own head. Hermione couldn't stand the let down look across his face but she didn't regret what she'd said. He bent down quickly and reached for his bag and suitcase and when his face emerged back up to Hermione's view, his expression had not changed. "Harry will want to hear about this," he informed her bitterly.

Once again Hermione sighed; she had no doubt that Harry would be thrilled to hear such news. "Ron," she said with a stab of obvious bluntness, "why did you stop in here?"

Ron's response was quick and rushed. He stood up from the table and tried not to look directly into her eyes. "I saw you while I was walking back to the office. Though I'd stop by and bring you the news." A shock of pain swelled through Hermione now; maybe she had been too harsh of Ron. She knew more than anyone how much the war had affected him. Suddenly her stoney face melted.

With a sorry little nod, Hermione let her focus slide back down to the table top. She said slowly in a voice that was a silent little whisper, "Thank you, Ron."

Ron's eyes did not meet her gaze. He looked back towards the door of the diner and out into the busy village streets. His knuckles tightened on the handle of his suitcase and he swallowed a rather large lump in his throat. "Don't mention it," he said back to her dryly. Without wasting another moment, he let his feet carry himself from the room. Hermione watched his figure vanish as he was consumed in the busy streets of Hogsmeade.

She sat there for several seconds, reminiscing. She was not in love with Ron like she had once, and she was full aware that her feelings were mutual. But she would always love him, always need him there with her. She could not see a world without Ron Weasley.

However, she was missing something. When they had first broken off their relationship, Harry had said to her that she would find someone that was right for her, even if it hadn't been Ron. At the time Hermione had ignored the statement, though now she found Harry's comment unquestionable. As she sat alone in the dingy little diner, Hermione let her eyes fall back to the picture of the Malfoys' and she realized, just as the Malfoy's needed redemption, she unquestionably needed something more.

-------------------------------------------------

Ron was right. Harry had been interested in Ron's news and the two spent the entire evening discussing it, despite Hermione constant need to insist they drop the subject. The three of them had been sitting on the couch around the fireplace when Ron had presented the paper to Harry, who's face brightened on cue. He laughed as he scanned the paper over and then said back to them, "why haven't I heard about this yet?"

"Search me," Ron said, now happy that at least one of his friends had taken interest in the story, "it's all I heard about during my trip back here. I'm surprised they even had enough papers left when I got to them. People were really after them."

"Who wouldn't be?" Harry smiled, his eyes still focused on the print. However, neither Ron or Hermione volunteered to him an answer. "Ron," Harry said after a while, and his suddenly surprised tone broke the silence, "have you read this?"

Ron's smile was large, and he leaned forward towards his friend, leaving Hermione feeling somewhat invisible, "of course I have, mate!" He exclaimed, "it's great isn't it?"

"'_Have __Lucius Malfoy and his family finally broken their silence? Just yesterday, the entire family of well-known former Death Eaters seemed to confirm such suspicion as they strolled down the streets of Hogsmeade village together, despite the utter shock their appearance caused. Of course, their appearance did not seem to settle with many of the other shoppers of the evening." _Harry read the paper out loud, his face focused on the story. As he pressed on, Hermione couldn't help but listen curiously in, "_Many onlookers shouted their protest back at them, however, the Malfoys' seemed to ignore the outrage their presence caused. One witness stated, 'the Mafoys' just walked right on by. It seems their arrogance has not vanished.'" _

When he'd finished, Harry said up towards Ron, "brilliant!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and slunk from the room before the two had much time to notice. She climbed through the doorway and forced herself out into the cold. Pushing back her hair behind her ears once again, Hermione pressed her back up against the house and let out a long sigh. Five years and she felt as if she were still back in school. Five years and she wanted more than anything to more past it all. Of course, the boys were different; they had suffered more than she knew and, out of gratitude, she had slipped away. Still, standing in the backyard of their quant little home, she wished it could all pass just a little bit faster.

Then came the scratchy sound of static around her and Hermione whirled around. In an instant she took off towards the back of their yard and hurried towards a cluster of gray stones. With fast moving hands she pulled each one aside and finally, through a small groove in the bottom she brought out a tiny little radio. She had kept the thing for ever such occasion and, bringing up the thing to her chest, she waited for the incoming of even more static sound.

The voice on the other end was broken at first, but then it spoke clear, as soft as day.

The voice on the other end, it cleared its throat and let out a long and desperate sigh. It said in a choppy voice, though its broken edge was not because of the radio, but rather something else deep inside the speaker's chest, "testing, testing. One, two, three."

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**Vonne: **Review, please!


	5. Hello, Hello

**Vonne:** Sorry that it's taken so long for me to upload this. Hopefully all those following it will be happy with this chapter that I've added. Thank you so very much and let me know what you think!

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**Chapter Two:  
Hello, Hello**

Hermione's thin fingers grasped the tiny little radio and, despite herself, she held her breath. On the other line, the timid one let his sound out slowly, as if each breath was her dying one. Panting, as if he'd only just run a mile or two, the voice sounded out again, "testing, testing, one, two, three." And then, as if a warning, it shot back hostilely, "if anyone's there, I want you to go away."

And then, in a meek tone, he added on to his fierce aggression, "and, I'd like to inform you that you're... you're invading my privacy. And I strongly suggest you focus your interest elsewhere." The wind around Hermione blew up her long bushy hair and around her neck, her knit scarf waved around blindly. She moved her little finger away from the speaker button. She had become so familiar with the device after years of keeping it around, for experimental purposes in truth, but never before had she expected to hear something so curious. The little radio, in fact, was something Hermione had kept hidden for a matter of months, a Muggle device she'd hoped someone in the Wizarding World would pick up and further explore. Because the Wizarding Word was transforming now, ever since the end of the war, and tolerance was become something so widely accepted. Maybe, she'd thought as she originally stuffed the thing in the bushes behind the hollowed out rock, it was the Muggle's turn.

However, whether or not the voice at the end was a Muggle's was a mystery to her. At this point, she fantasized that it could be anyone. From the Muggle toy, the male voice said with a sigh, "If there's anyone there, I don't care. At this point, I could care less about what you think of me, no matter what you hear. I need to get it all off my chest, everything. And, frankly, right now I'm a little drunk- so if you really want to pick at my brain, then you're in luck." The voice continued, sad and somewhat lonely, "it is kind of a hobby of mine, getting hammered. _Completely and utterly hammered."_ And then with a little laugh, the disembodied voice added, "a new interest my father wouldn't be too proud of, admittedly." Even though she couldn't see the owner of the voice herself, Hermione imagined him running a hand through his hair.

"Speaking of my father," the voice continued with a tinge of resentment, "he wasn't too happy about it when I came home tonight, actually. Said he'd expected more from me, though I'm not quite sure what he meant by that, truly. Perhaps, he'd rather me have wined at some finer pub than Rosmerta's?"

There was something strange and oddly familiar about the voice that slightly haunted Hermione. While she truly wanted to continue listening in on whoever it had been, there was something screaming inside her to stop; to put the simple toy down and lea and leave. Something kept her rooted there and she held the radio to her chest, slightly leaning her head down so her ear was closest to the speakers. Why she couldn't pin point the voice was beyond her, but she felt somewhere she knew its owner, wondered as to why she couldn't place a name to it...

"I'm not a drunk," the boy slurred, as if proving quite the contrary. "I simply enjoy partaking in such activities as drinking." Unwillingly, Hermione gave a little giggle and, noting this, she bit her bottom lip. What she didn't know was that only several miles away, the owner of the voice was doing the same. Draco Malfoy bit his thin lip so hard that a trickle of scarlet red blood rolled down the corner of his face. Scolding himself, he cursed into the radio and when he heard a little gasp on the other end of disapproval, he raised a blond brow. Although, he chalked the mild sound up to being some malfunction of the radio, since he wasn't familiar to such devices in the first place.

Continuing, Draco Malfoy reported, "he sent me up to my room, my father did. Though, I'm not there." Draco's gray eyes scanned his surroundings. He wasn't about to reveal his location into the radio, just in case there was someone listening in on the other end, but he was rather fond of the scenery. He was laying down on his back, staring up at the dark gray sky. Above him, billions of sparkling stars glittered up ahead, the only source of light besides the moon. The monstrous lake twinkled out ahead of him, reflecting the sky into it like one large and liquid screen. Emerald bushes surrounded him, as if enclosing him in the marvelous space. With a small laugh, Malfoy said angrily, "what does he think I am? A child?"

Malfoy bit his lower lip and said with something that sounded oddly enough like a boyish pout, "I'm not eleven years old anymore... I'm twenty-two years old." Miles away, Hermione tilted her head. Twenty-two, huh, the same age as she was. What an odd coincidence.

Laying on the green grass, Malfoy took a large swig of beer, not particularly his drink of choice but one he'd have to settle with at the moment. He'd kept a secret stash of it hidden away so his father couldn't find it and still he insisted that he was not an alcoholic. In fact, he addressed the radio as he wiped his lips free of the drink with the sleeve of his white shirt, "I'm _not_ addicted. Trust me, if I had anything better to do, I wouldn't be wasting my time with drinking." Shaking his head, he continued, "besides, this drinking thing, it's a temporary thing, really. It's not a serious thing- it just manages to pass the time."

"I never was addicted to anything. In fact, the only addiction that runs in my family is the addiction to power. But ever since the battle ended, there was nothing much I could do besides drink. It's not so bad, once you get used to it." Hiccuping, Draco proved that he was almost pretty much completely used to it. "Then again, after the battle, I couldn't do much anyway." Battle? At the very word, Hermione stiffened. Could it be that he was speaking of the Hogwarts Battle? At twenty-two years old, it was probably the only major battle that he'd lived to know. Hermione's index finger hovered over the speaker button. She ached for something to say. He was there- there at the Battle. Perhaps she'd known him- and if she didn't, she couldn't deny the urge that she wanted to.

In her mind, she mentally put together a situation where she did have the courage to blurt out, "who is this?" but when she could not do such a thing, she cursed herself silently. It almost seemed cruel to interrupt his rant, as if her input was completely unwelcome to him. Even in her anomy she couldn't disrupt him and so, almost practically too timid for her own good, she sat there listening to him carry on in all his drunkenness. Continuing with sheer disgrace, Malfoy finished off with a slur, "but like I said, it's only temporary."

Hermione opened her mouth, only just daring to ask him his identity. However, something sudden started up behind her and just as her finger pressed the speaker button, she let out a little yelp. The Muggle toy fluttered out from her loose fingers and flopped on the grass with a little thud. Hermione's hands flew to her chest and, panting, she reeled around. Harry Potter stood across from her, looking equally alarmed. His own hand whizzed up to his chest and, with a timid yelp of his own, he stumbled over backwards just as she had.

"Hermione?" He managed to call out when he regained himself and his sweaty hands pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Ron and I didn't even notice you'd gone. You've been out here for hours." At once Harry grew rather sheepish and he plummeted his hands into his pants pocket, "maybe Ron and I were getting a little too excited over the Malfoy article, huh?"

Hermione glanced back at him, lowering an eyebrow. She wasn't sore at them, but merely disappointed. Although, she only said, "maybe," about the subject and let her eyes fly to the ground in search of the two-way radio. When she finally located it, she pushed it back away into the bushes with her left foot, thankful that the voice didn't speak up into it again. It wasn't that she didn't want Harry to find out about her toy, but there was a slight thrill in it being her little secret, anyway. However, despite her thrill of keeping it hidden from Harry, a new horror overtook her. She'd screamed into the radio- gave herself away. Her heaving chest sunk and she couldn't help but break a sweat.

Harry raised his own brow. "Are you okay." Slowly, he managed to inch forward. He said slowly, "you look a little uneasy."

Instantly, Hermione quivered. A small shiver went up her spine. She wasn't okay, in truth. She had ruined her chances of hearing the voice again. Violently she swore to herself and then tried to regain her posture in front of Harry. Straightening her back, Hermione stiffened and tried to mask the disappointment that lined her voice. However, she was in truth, quite the actress. "Yeah, Harry," she said with a faux smile, "I'm fine. Just tired of hearing the same thing in the news over and over and over again, you know? I'd like to hear about something new, perhaps. You know Neville won Hogwarts teacher of the year this year! Why can't we hear about that?"

Harry smiled weakly and offered her his hand. However, instead of taking it, Hermione looped her arm through his and pressed her head against his shoulder. "Are you still mad at Ron and me?" he asked innocently, "we're still kids, really. Still stuck in the Hogwarts days?"

Hermione swished him away with a flick of her wrist. "Oh, nonsense," Hermione insisted, because Harry's claim really wasn't entirely true. "Boys will be boys, I guess. Everyone always says it and Lord knows after being around you two I've come to realize how true that saying really is."

"So," Harry asked mischievously, "you'll permit us to bag on Malfoy?"

Hermione lifted her head, mulling the thought over. "Does such a thing truly make you and Ron happy?"

Instantly Harry's face brightened. He said down at her as if pleading, "oh, Hermione, very much so."

And, even though she really didn't condone it, she said with a smile that was truly unwilling, "okay. Knock yourselves out then." Next to her, Harry laughed and he swung his body to the side, only to come colliding with her friendlily. Despite herself, she tossed him a smile; it was something both he and Ron had a way of doing, they could always make her smile. "You know," she said after they had walked several feet back up to the house, "I didn't think I'd been gone that long. What's it been? A half an hour?"

Harry shrugged, "eh, about an hour or so." Hermione's heart skipped a beat. Had it really been that long? She hadn't noticed. "Ron fell asleep after a while, to be honest. He'd figured you'd went off to bed."

Hermione huffed, unimpressed, "he would figure such a thing. Why didn't I go out with you?" Hermione was only joking, but Harry seemed a little disheartened by her friendly mocking. "You at least came looking for me."

But Harry shook his head. He looked back down at her and then up at their cosy house, where the orange light still glowed. Slumped in the large seat across from the fireplace, Ron sat slumped. Even from their view far away, they could see his mouth hanging open and even the glistening droll that tumbled down his left jaw. "You know, he really does care about you, Hermione. He just doesn't know how to say it now, after the two of you... broke it off." Shrugging, Harry continued, "he's never been good at those type of things, Hermione. You know that." Away from them, Ron shifted in the sofa and even outside they heard him give a tiny little snore. "In his own way, he's trying."

Pushing herself away, Hermione's joking visage seemed to practically melt away. She regained herself and gazed back into the window, "yeah," she said with a nod, "I know." At that, she stuffed her hands into her trouser pockets, too, and continued up the hill to the front door alongside Harry in silence. "I'm not trying to be difficult."

Harry tossed his head to one side, "Hermione, you've always been difficult." But before Hermione could take his comment offensively, Harry pushed open the door and turned back to her, adding with a smile, "I think that's what Ron loved about you." A slight tinge of loss hit Hermione in the chest. It was rather hard, but she swallowed whatever the feeling had been quickly. She had loved Ron, truly had, but even then she wasn't sure he had felt the same way about her now, wasn't sure she did either. In the midst of her thoughts, Harry pushed open the door and didn't bother tip-toeing across the wooden floor. In fact, he walked rather loudly, as if his intent were to surely wake Ron from his deep sleep. "Oy," Harry said, when Ron didn't move a muscle, "wake up, Ron. You can sleep through anything, I swear!"

With a little shake of his head, Ron jumped up from the cozy sofa, his fingers dug into the arm rest of the whole thing. From his mouth, he emitted a sound that sounded like nothing particular. Hermione raised an eyebrow at his jumbled speech and, as she passed the couch smoothly, she uttered, "Lord knows Ron can sleep through anything." She even managed to throw in a small smile in there for him, because she held no bitter resentment towards Ron. Noting this, Ron's sleepy face perked up and he tried at a smirk of his own, only to fall back into the sofa and slap a hand over his freckled face tiredly.

"How long have I been out?" He asked Harry, who had strode to the kitchen and poured himself another cup of tea. Biting back the urge to tell him that he probably didn't need anymore caffeine, Hermione watched him lean back. He pushed himself to the counter of the kitchen and shifted his weight, eying both Ron and Hermione with some hidden smile. He brought the steaming cup of to his lips and shrugged.

Hermione huffed. Answering for Harry, she gave Ron a tiny shrug of her own. "I don't know. It's been long enough, that's for sure, Ron." Tossing her long and thick hair over one shoulder, she let herself sink backwards and watch Ron's eyes close again.

Behind his shut eyes, Ron's tired mouth said, "alright, we'll I'm going back to bed." However, he managed to lift a thin little finger, adding back up to Harry, who he couldn't see, "wake me if there's some more news about the Malfoys, would you?" Finishing off, he added as he drifted back to sleep, "wouldn't want to miss that."

"Going to bed, then, too?" Harry asked Hermione with a raised eyebrow. He tilted his chin up at her and stared back into his tea cup. Inquiring as to why he'd poured himself a second cup of tea in the first place, he poured the remainder of it back in to the kitchen sink. "It's pretty late, actually."

Hermione took one more look at Ron. Even slumped so low in the couch, he looked as peaceful as ever. His red hair, long and somewhat shaggy, had fallen over his freckled forehead. He gave a little snore and Hermione shook her own head, which felt massive in its headache. All she could think about was how she'd given herself away over the radio and the gruesome fact haunted her deeply. Even if she wanted to, Hermione doubted she could manage to get to sleep. However, despite herself, she said to Harry without shifting her eyes away from the window, "Uh, yea." Raising her half empty tea cup, "I kind of want to finish this first, okay?"

Nodding, Harry pulled himself away from the counter and strode away from the two of them. "Okay," he said giving her a little wink of his own, as if he'd figured it was thinking she'd really wished to continue. As he vanished behind the corner, Hermione finally let her breath release. When she heard the door to his bedroom shut quietly, she put the tea cup down and tiptoed across the living room and through the kitchen, trying with anxiety to pace past Ron without being detected. When she made it to the door, she whisked it open with fast relief and turned to shut it slowly. Though once her feet hit the outside grass, her pattern of quietness quickly ended.

She fled across the backyard grass with only one thing on her mind. The light of the kitchen shrunk quickly behind her, placing both Harry and Ron in the distance. When she came to the bushes, she silently knelt down and searched behind the green bush for the radio that she'd hidden before. Then, once her hands found it underneath all the brush, she whisked the little thing up to her face. Breathing heavily, she let her finger press down on the speaker button. "Hello?" she finally managed to whisper, "hello? Are you still there?"

But when no answer came, Hermione finally let her shoulders sink down. She'd scared him off and a flood of disappointment surged through her like a wave. Seething violently, Hermione breathed out loud, "damn!" and tossed the radio down beside her as if scolding it. She intertwined her fingers into the locks of her hair that met her skull and said again, "dammit!" Pathetically, she flopped down at the dewy grass on her back and let out one big breath. She may have scared him off for now, but maybe she should hold on to the little thing... just in case.

Miles away, however, Draco Malfoy wasn't quite sure. He had, in fact, heard Hermione's timid squeal and, at the sound of it, he himself tossed the small black radio across the grass if it had just caught fire. He and the radio managed a staring contest that had lasted admittedly too long before Draco blinked back at it. Malfoy crawled back over to it slowly and then, when he wrapped his fingers around it, gave it one more look over with sheer interest. Through clenched teeth, Draco sneered, "I knew it. I _knew_ it!"

Though, something made him want to hold on to the radio, something Draco couldn't quite put his finger on. Lodged into his sweaty palm, he thrust the Muggle toy into his black trouser pocket, ignoring the meek, "hello? Hello?" that sounded off from his pants around the time of night when he'd started heading home. The voice was rather sweet, despite the obvious desperation that it gave off. Malfoy's resentment throbbed through him mercilessly. The voice hadn't spoken up when he'd warned it to but, while he hated the person on the other end for it, he found it awfully difficult to remain mad. The person on the other end, the sweet voice that had probably belonged to a female noting its tone, was a form of his own therapy. Free sessions via toy radio. And, even while still pulsating with anger, he felt the odd need to thank whoever it was that had been listening in on him.

So, he'd keep the thing. But, then again, his father surely didn't have to find out about it.

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**Vonne: **So, let me know what you think. I really love hearing from you all, anyways. You all know that by now, I think. Reviews make me :)

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	6. There in Lies the Problem

**Vonne:** First off, it has been _so long!_ I am so sorry. I was working on finishing up so many other fictions that I'd started and completely forgot all about this one-- which I am completely planning on finishing up. The original plan is to make this somewhere between 20 and 30 chapters, though I'm sure it will be somewhere around the 30 plus area. Anyway, once again, I apologize! Hopefully this chapter will make up for it, too.

Anyways, then here it is: chapter six, finally!

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**Chapter Six:  
There in Lies the Problem**

Gregory Goyle wasn't exactly sure what to think when he'd first spotted Draco Malfoy sitting in solitude in the village library. In fact, he had to take several steps closer to the glowering white figure just to make sure. Malfoy had his heavy head in the palms of his hands, though his nose was undoubtedly in the book he'd been analyzing. The slender width of his arm was plummeted low in the pocket of his thick black peacoat, from which extended a long, wiry antenna. For a moment Goyle stood opposite to Draco Malfoy, remaining unnoticed, before extending a rather stout leg and whisking off his own burley jacket. "Well, Draco," Goyle said rather bluntly, sending Malfoy's head skyrocketing up from the pages of the library book, "the library? Last place I'd ever imagined seeing you." When he was close enough to his friend to manage a whisper, he hoarsely added, "they don't sell liquor here."

Malfoy lifted a long finger, holding it up stiffly as if he were in fact ordering up. "Already got that taken care of, Goyle." He lifted his chin, exposing the red brightness of the tip of his nose. With his head in the air, he sniffed, blinked his glassy eyes, and wrinkled his nose as if such an action would surely discourage Goyle completely. "When will you ever realize it, Goyle? I'm always one step ahead of you."

"Ah, yes," Goyle nodded, solemnly as he waved the stench of alcohol away from his own front, "always just one stumbling step..." With that, he flopped into the chair next to his old friend and leaned backwards in it. Eyes scanning the book shop, he felt admittedly rather uncomfortable, despite lacking the pride he'd carried just several years ago. Back then, being in such a place would have embarrassed him undoubtedly but now Goyle was embarrassed only because of his intoxicated company. "I thought I saw you in here through the window," he said, mentally wishing he'd met up with a more sober Draco, "so I came in to see how you've been. Last I saw you, you weren't quite... there. If you know what you mean."

Malfoy mulled Goyle's comment over, sucking in his cheeks. He turned back to the book, flipped a few pages, and whispered back responsively, "I work better when I'm drunk."

Goyle rolled his eyes, "both you and I know that's not true. Malfoy, don't get being pissed confused with being _pissed._ You work the best when you're angry, not when you're drunk." He then fell utterly quite, not quite liking where the subject of his conversation was about to lead to. Perhaps Draco Malfoy the Death Eater worked better when infuriated, but this was a new Draco Malfoy. Admittedly, Goyle was quite happy that Malfoy seemed to lead a less enraged life, though filling his new life with booze was, to be quite honest, hardly a substitute. He pitched himself forward, leaned towards Malfoy with his chin on his palms, and said begrudgingly, "what are you doing here anyway? Reading..." he lifted the pages of the book, turning to the front cover and reeved back, almost blatantly shocked, "_Muggle Electronics?_"

Slowly Draco reopened the book, pushed the pages to where he previously had been, and buried his face back into it. He focused on nothing but the pages when he said back, "I need to figure out everything I can on Muggle radios."

Goyle's eyes reverted to little slits. He said rather dryly, "radios."

To which Draco responded just as blankly, "Yes, Goyle. Radios."

"Wow," Goyle continued, putting on a slightly sarcastic feat of shock. "I've heard of complete turn-arounds, but I must admit I'm inquisitive. Are you saying you've gained a soft spot for Muggles? Going to read up on them all... starting with electronics?"

Malfoy hiccuped, narrowing his own gray eyes. "Don't get too ahead of yourself, Goyle." Then, he permitted himself to bring his hand out of his pea coat pocket, elevating a square shaped radio from its depths. He pushed down the long wire and set the toy down on the surface of the library table, looking up at Goyle to see if his friend had had any reaction. However, when Goyle's face remained untainted, Malfoy pushed the little radio away from him in Goyle's direction, stating, "I found this lying around Hogsmeade village the other day."

"Ah," Goyle nodded, managing to contain his enthusiasm.

"Ah." Malfoy's face reddened slightly. "Just... 'ah'. D-don't you know what this thing does?"

The rain pounded harder outside, bringing up Goyle's attention. He's almost forgotten that it was even raining in the first place. Of course, it had only been drizzling when he'd first entered the library, though such instant rushing wind surely discouraged him. He shut his eyes, very much liking the relaxing sensation that overtook him as he did so. Had Draco Malfoy truly worn him out this much?

Goyle shook his head. He didn't bother lifting the Muggle toy to examine it. Instead, he shoved the thing back towards Malfoy, who grabbed it and sheepishly shoved it back into the pocket of his jacket. "As a matter of fact," Goyle began, "I do. And, really, Draco, no one uses two way radios before. Not with text messaging." Malfoy raised an eyebrow, looking more lost than incomprehensibly drunk.

"Text-messaging?"

Goyle's voice lowered. Shaking his head, he advised his friend, "please, don't ask." However, Malfoy's confused visage did not change an ounce. Finally, Goyle explained, "after the war, I had to get away. I spent a while outside the Wizarding World completely." He sighed, running a hand over his own large face. "Meaning London... Muggle London." He paused, looking up from his sausage-like fingers to examine his own affect of Draco's face. Furthermore, Malfoy's confused grimace had him a tad bit unsure himself. He further elaborated, "I had to get away, Draco. From all of this and, you know what, it worked. I came back and I was ready to start over again. Become something of a new person. I got my head back on straight." Once again, the chubbier of the two pressed himself closer, possibly more engrossed in what he was trying to saw. Perhaps it was something that truly needed to be said, really considering the circumstances. As he talked, he used his hands, widened his eyes, and looked as if he couldn't offer Draco any better advise in the world. "I'm not saying you need to go away, Draco. But you need to stop thinking about the past-- stop _drinking." _

A rather long and uncomfortable moment passed between the two of them. Malfoy's eyes drew away from Draco's, landing on the bulge of the radio in his pocket, and then flickered back to find his friend. Two things ran through his mind, and only one of them involved what Goyle was saying at the moment. First and foremost, he'd considered the radio, and all aspects of it. Whomever it was on the other end had heard absolutely everything he was saying only the night before and he couldn't take that back. It was true, of course, that the listener was more than likely oblivious as to who it was on the other end. However, that was not the point. What Draco was sure of was that the listener- no, the intruder- would find out who he was more sooner than later.

And there, in lied the problem.

The list of things Draco didn't know about the listener was ample. His cluelessness, it seemed, knew no bounds. Where he was currently was somewhere in the midsts of trying to invent an exposing jinx to hex the radio with and pretending to pay attention to Goyle's ramblings. Where Goyle was, however, was fully engrossed in what it was that he was saying. His eyes were intense and wide, bulging even. When he spoke, though he did so with fast enthusiasm, his mouth formed every word. "Stop drinking. Get your head sorted out. And drop this unimportant nonsense. Radios, Malfoy? Come on."

Malfoy's eye twitched, finally impacted by the word 'radio'. He jerked his chin up, straightened his jaw, and put on more of an interested face. Goyle's, however, melted with all the disappointed feelings he could muster. "Are you even listening to me?"

"You have my complete attention," Draco lied, wondering what other books he could find.

Goyle sighed, shaking his huge skull back and forth. There was a throbbing inside of it that he knew could only be caused by the blond seated directly across from him. He gripped his temples and swallowed hard, rather determined. "I'm not going to let you be just another lost cause, Draco."

Malfoy's mouth twitched up into that of an amused smile. For the time being, he had been brought away from his interest in the radio. "Is that right? And how do you propose to save me from utter destruction?" There was a cockiness in his voice that Goyle recognized almost instantly. He flinched, letting his shoulders drop at the sign of his friend poking fun at him.

"I'm serious, Malfoy," Goyle spat, somewhat repulsed and offended. However, he mellowed himself, continuing with patient persistence. "Look, what happened to us was definitely life impacting. I've thought things out, and I've had time to, too... I've been given great advice. I think after all the steps I've taken I've really began to start to think straight. We were brainwashed, Malfoy. We were _told_ to think a certain way and we fell for it. All I'm saying is... find yourself."

Draco didn't bother to hide his oncoming laughter. "Goyle, you're insane. I'm... I'm fine. I'm striving and surviving!" With an unconvincing smile, Malfoy shoved his hands up into the air, as if to further show off this statement. Malfoy laughed, yet again, and when he did so it was in that of a laughing child. His eyes swam with amusement and even his drunkenly pale face turned to a satisfied shade of red. His cheeks, puffy as a result of trying to contain himself, were sore with his chuckling and only when he was certain his body couldn't take it anymore, did he stop altogether. After the ordeal, he was utterly tankful he didn't hear the librarian hush, "shh! This is a library!" because, after Goyle's previous speech, he was certainly not in the mood for any more cliches. However, Goyle did not laugh. He didn't move much, quite frankly. Instead, he sat temporarily frozen, taking in the wobbling, giggling presence that was Draco Malfoy.

He slapped his head on his forehead, shutting his heavy eyes. They had started to sting since starting down Malfoy for such a long while. "Get up. One step at a time, alright? I'm going to lock you in a single room and make you sweat and piss out that liquor for as long as it takes."

But Draco whipped his hand away. "No," he said, obviously not paying attention. "You go ahead. I've got stuff to do." At this, he turned back to the open book, lowered himself in his seat, and scanned the pages over intensively. Goyle stood there, brought up from his chair, in what seemed to be inevitable shock. He blinked, watching Draco ignore him so blatantly. Then, with a discouraged groan, he moved himself from Draco's library table, back out into the rain.

* * *

Hermione Granger was laying on her back, her brunette hair sprawled out behind her small skull. It had been raining for quite some time, though she didn't quite mind the moistness. She was laying underneath a bright pink bed sheet, somewhat of a fort in the middle of her room. She'd lit candles around herself, feeling quite relaxed in her new world of pink, orange, and red. And relaxation was exactly the thing she needed. To relax her mind-- that was the goal. Quite honestly, all that she had been thinking about was the little radio, which has been sitting on her chest, as she breathed in and out rhythmically. That damn radio.

But what use was it to blame a child's toy? She had, of course, been the sole person to blame. She herself had made the noise that gave her away. And she was sure that the boy on the other end had heard it. Furthermore she felt rather embarrassed and disappointed in herself. Currently, her mind ran back and forth between what she truly needed and what she wanted. What she needed was more scented candles, probably the only thing that would relax her a time like this. What she needed was contact through the radio again and even she wasn't really sure why. Though, thinking about the dynamics of it all was only just making her headache worse. Maybe she really did need the comfort of someone who'd gone through everything she had, as well. Someone that wasn't Harry or Ron. Of course, it wasn't that her best friends didn't bring her comfort; they did an amazing job of making her happy.

So then, what was it?

"Knock, knock," came the verbal entrance of someone unseen. A long and slender shadow was cast up against the sunset colored sheets draped around the bedroom. Hermione only made a little groan, hardly managing to move a muscle. But the newcomer took her grunt as a welcoming. Striding forward, Ron revealed himself duly into the light, presenting a goofy smile on his freckled face. However, his good natured beam proved only just temporary. "What's going on in here?" he asked, scrunching up his face.

"Shh!" Hermione scolded, tossing Ron a rather annoyed frown. "Ron, I'm trying to concentrate." With that, she shut her eyes, shifted slightly on the ground, and scrunched her face, as if such a thing would help her dive deeper into her serenity.

Reeling slightly back, Ron obeyed her, though not fully. With an over exaggerated grimace, he cocked his chin up and took to examining the mess Hermione had made of her bedroom. The only light that seeped through the windows was that that managed its way through the orange bed sheets. Cast along the walls, shadows were made heavily prominent by the lit candles on every desk in the room. Dandling pink lights gave the whole atmosphere the feeling of being inside a tent belonging to perhaps that of a gypsy. Trying to understand Hermione's newfound unorganized and artistic taste, Ron raised an eyebrow, allowing himself to say only, "huh."

Hermione's tired eyes bust open. "You know, it's not exactly easy to try and concentrate with you talking and breathing over my shoulder."

Ron stifled his laughter. Working on trying to mask his oncoming smile, he moved in, slunk back, and looked down on her, almost literally. "I was just trying to bring you some tea, 'Mione," he scoffed, rather amused, "relax."

Eyes following the silver tray in Ron's hands, Hermione caught hold of her own miserable reflexion that had been cast in the surface of it. The bloodshot color that had overtaken her pupils horrified her. The paleness in her face made her slightly sick. She shifted and finally transferring her gaze up to Ron, she allowed an unhid frown to pass her. "I _was trying_ to relax," she informed him, irritably, though she gave up and pulled herself up into a seated position. However, she attempted to be somewhat polite as she took the tea cup from Ron's tray, nodding in a questionably bitter, "thank you."

"So," Ron asked, ignoring Hermione as she winced at the sound of him speaking again, "what's this all about?"

"Nothing," Hermione lied. "I'm just trying to get some relaxing in. And don't give me that look," she added, taking note of Ron's consistently twisting facial expressions. "I read up in the library that said settings like this were ideal for relaxation. However, you standing around was not included in that book's description. So, if you'll excuse me."

Ron's face both fell and rose. Stuck between being hurt and amused, his shoulders fell, though his smile quivered up into a smile. "Well," he said with a sigh and a laugh, waving his wiry finger around in a circle, "have at it then." Hermione watched him leave the tent, bending down low to avoid knocking down the sheets she'd draped all over the place. Left sitting cross legged with her steaming hot tea, Hermione was slightly unsure whether or not to be glad or embarrassed for her behavior towards Ron. After all, he'd only been trying to be nice. However, 'nice' was not what Hermione needed right now. What Hermione needed was a miracle. She need the radio, to hear that voice again because for some reason she found it unavoidably comforting.

And then Hermione Granger got her miracle. The little radio gave a static grumble, almost causing Hermione to drop her hot tea completely. For then came the voice, shaky and a little unsure, before it finally said carefully, "testing. Testing. One. Two. Three."

* * *

**Vonne: **R&R, thank you!


	7. Pretty Faces, Ugly Places

**Vonne:** New Years resolution... update as soon as possible.

* * *

**Chapter Seven:  
Pretty Faces, Ugly Places**

For the second time with the radio, Hermione felt her breath shorten. The little thing, how delicate it felt in her quivering hands. This time she held her breath and she made sure of it. However, the person on the other end, they breathed in broken up exhales. She could almost sense his anxiety through the black plastic speakers. Hostile beyond comprehension, the voice was segmented, one weary breath after another. Each, "testing. Testing," had been tainted with undeniable fury and, sitting still, Hermione couldn't deny the sense of terror that overtook her, though the thrill of excitement surely made up for it.

"I know you're there," the voice on the other end warned, hostile, yet still seemingly drunk. Momentarily, an uncontrollable little laugh sounded out from Hermione's radio and she dropped it, watching the plastic thing spin delicately on the floor. With timid response, she dove again for it, picking it up off the carpet slowly. Then she lifted it to her ear, as if the voice were whispering into it. "Oh, come off it. Say something!" Hermione lifted her finger of the button, laughed eagerly to herself. As if such a thing would happen. In no way, shape, or form would she risk such a thing again. No, not a chance. However, her desire to remain put stayed consistent and the voice repeated once again, "I. Know. You're. There."

So, he knew she was there. Hermione felt her chest tense and heavy inside her skeleton. Perhaps this wasn't a bad thing. Truth be told, she felt comfort in her secrecy. Though, she let her finger press down on the radio's little button, allowing him to hear the whip of the wind around her room. Although, this did not soothe the voice's anger. On the opposite end of the tiny toy, the male's voice grunted, as if maybe leaning back on something hard. He let out a long and tiring sigh before speaking again. "Well, that's just fine," he sniffed, "you don't have to tell me anything. Just know that I know and when I find out who this is..."

Both Hermione and the voice stopped short. When he found out who was on the other end... then what? The sentence was left open as a threat, but proved utterly as an empty one. Even sitting there, anticipating the endless possibilities, Hermione admittedly felt no threat. Of course, she wasn't about to risk her chances, nonetheless. Provided, she also leaned back, more relaxed than she had been previously, and waited for him to continue. When he did add on to his ramblings, the voice only laughed, this time rather desperately, as if doing such a thing might calm his nerves. He was, sadly, mistaken. "You know," he informed Hermione, his mysterious bother, "I don't know why I continue talking into this silly thing. Even when I know you're there..."

Hermione shrugged to herself and, possibly, to the man on the other end if she'd thought he was watching. She didn't know either. Then again, she didn't know why she continued on listening.

"Let me just tell you that if you're listening, I doubt you'll be doing so for much longer. What you are going to hear from me isn't going to be sugar coated. Life's not that beautiful. Life's not all that peachy. My friend wants to me to go and see a therapist." There was a pause, a third laugh, and then one last inhale. However, he seemed to drop the subject of therapy altogether. With another sniffle, he put on, "I give you about two days. Hell, maybe even a week if you're bloody demented. You won't like hearing me talk, promise you that."

"First off," the voice continued, "I'm not an honest person. I never have been, either. I'm not even a good person. Truth of the matter is, I'm a bad person. A really bad person. You're not going to like that, either. Second; I'm a drunk. As of recently. Or, at least, that's what they say... that I'm a drunk. But really, I don't think I'm a drunk. So, there's also that going against me." The way in which the voice spoke was with an undeniable amount of desperation, as if convincing his listener of everything that he was trying to say. So he was a bad person who drank on occasion. Hermione mulled over the two stated claims, considered them rather vague, and kept awfully quite.

Then the voice lowered to a tone that was practically more hoarse than Hermione had ever heard a voice to be. "Third... I'm a murderer. I've killed people. Probably a lot of people. I've done things that would absolutely horrify you... you're not going to like that, either."

A long and daunting chill ran up and down Hermione's leaning spine. She felt her blood and breath run short and chilly. With her fingers on the Muggle toy, she dared not to move. Now more than ever, she was curious. Who was this on the other end? Perhaps, her mind quizzed, he was lying. A self admitted fibber, the possibility of him doing so was high. If he had been telling the truth, she wondered how long he'd been doing such things and why, most of all, had she not heard about it? A murder in the Wizarding Word, of course, was not unheard of. Though, she would undoubtedly know about it. There was no way he was telling her the truth. No way possible... was there?

"So," came the voice again, a little more cocky and convinced, "you still there?"

She was. After all his confessions of being a truly horrible human being. After his admission of lies and, most of all, of murder. She was still seated there. Now more than ever, she wanted to say something. The bubbling pressure in the depths of her chest was calling out to her brain, advising her to speak up, to snap out of it. And so, giving in to the pestering need, she replied without hesitation, "yes."

On both ends, silence mounted like an inevitable road bump. Hermione didn't move, but she'd suspected she'd sure spooked her partner. So she waited, patient and nervous, for the voice to come through once again. However, such a thing didn't happen as easily as she'd suspected. There was a fit of rapid breaths, a rather nervous chuckle, and then the voice came through the radio louder than ever. "I fucking knew it," he said, tinted with both rage and embarrassment. "I knew it. Who is this?"

Hermione shut her eyes, rather weary of all the complications. She leaned back, crossed her legs, and chewed her bottom lip considerably. Surely he didn't perceive her to be so stupid? Shutting her eyes, she replied with a testing tone, "and who is this?"

Coldly, the voice calculated, "none of your business."

"Oh, really? I find it to be my business considering you're speaking into one of my radios. Hm." Quite frankly, Hermione did not mean to come off as cold as she had, however, her previous sense of warmness towards the voice had very much changed. Besides, whoever he was, he wasn't all that tough now. Considerably, she thought him nothing but a bother, and wished hurriedly that someone else had picked up her radio.

The man hesitated, and then shot back, "that's beyond the point."

"Oh, really," Hermione replied back testily. She could feeling her own boiling anger rise up form the depths of her chest. There was a slightly urgency in her mind to put down whoever truly was on the other end. No longer did she feel sympathy. "Then what is the point, then?" Leaning back, she adjusted herself to a position more comfortable, "enlighten me."

"The point is..." the voice started, nervous and stammering, "the point is that you... you're invading my privacy. You're... you're--"

"What?" Hermione's eyes whipped open, joyful to have caught him. "I'm what, sir? Snooping? Don't make me laugh, we're not children-- or, you could be as far as I know. But I'm hardly a child and, believe it or not, I try to stay away from ignorant, immature, unintelligent people like I assume you are. So, quite frankly, I hardly find the issue of privacy to be the main problem here."

Now there was urgency behind the mysterious man's voice. He paused for a moment and Hermione was certain she could hear him moan after slapping a hand shakily to the top of her forehead. The way his voice came to her so close-like, she was sure he'd pressed his entire mouth to it, saying furiously, "who. Is. This?"

"Ah, well, who is _this?"_

Then thee came nothing but an admittedly loud clatter; the sound of the entire radio being thrust out of the man's hands and hitting a wall. The last thing Hermione heard was the toy as it clattered to the ground. Then there was nothing, the line went blank, and in the night, one of Hermione's candles went out.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was a wreck. Perhaps even more of a wreck than he had been earlier that morning, if such a thing were entirely possible.

He was on his knees, piecing together the remaining parts of the useless little radio. When he'd put the last of the pieces together, having only slightly improved the toy, he leaned his back against the wall, exhaled slowly, and ran a quivering hand through his head of sweaty blond hair. His room was dark, despite the florescent light that dangled from the roof, and he sat alone in the center of it, looking rather deranged considering the circumstances.

The bags under his eyes were, for the most part, understandable; he'd been attempting to fix the radio for quite some time now. Though his running nose was only probably due to the hefty amount of liquor he'd consumed in the process. His slouchy posture was, in his parent's concern, inexcusable, though for the time being, Draco didn't quite care much what his parent's thought of his posture, or his presence as a whole, entirely. He was beyond his parent's now, beyond whatever they're considered appropriate. Because, by the looks of it, their ideas of what was socially acceptable was, in all aspects, not all that acceptable.

Maybe, considering everything afterwards, he shouldn't have tossed the radio against the wall. Yes, that probably wasn't the best idea, all things considered. With his head in his hands, he stared at the toy with newfound sorrow, still rather furious, but undeniably regretting his past rage with the thing. Perhaps he should have gently plopped it in a tiny toss pillow. The effect wouldn't have been as whole-hearted, but the consequences might have left him with a better working two way radio.

But what was the use in crying over spilt milk? Was there any? If there hadn't been, Draco Malfoy wasn't aware of it. Because sitting there, sulking, he'd found himself rather unhappy. That wasn't to say that at first he'd quite liked the feeling of tossing the thing- because doing so had, in truth, felt rather empowering. However, that feeling didn't last long. So temporary was this feeling that Malfoy considered himself much less of the person he was during the Battle than ever before. And the thought scared him. Furthermore, if he couldn't handle the offense of a broken toy, what could he handle now?

However, he was sure he'd fixed it. But then again, he wasn't about to test it out. Since cradling the thing in the palms of his sweaty hands, he'd heard the voice on the other end ask, "still there?" in mock tones, though the reception was undeniably muffled. Fuzzy and a bit unclear, he'd did as he wished he had previously and set the thing aside-- gently. Managing only to stare it down with furious intention, he kept to himself, hands pitted at his side, standing opposite it with his teeth clenched.

He lost the staring contest, blinking out sweat from his eyes. It wasn't as if the thing was possessed, but the way Draco saw it currently, it may of well had been. He was only just about to approach it, though even he wasn't exactly sure what to do after he'd done so, when a rather polite knock sounded at the other side of his bed room door. On usual days, Lucius Malfoy wouldn't bother to knock, but such times were unusual, and maybe now, more than ever, Draco's father had began to come to accept his son's privacy. "Draco," Lucius called out, rather cold than inviting, "are you in there?"

Draco's posture faltered. He ran on fast feet towards the toy, swooped it up off its mattress, and thrust it under the pillows of his bed. With that, he carefully flopped down on the thing, his hands folded neatly in his lap. Without conviction, he said out loud to his father, "yes, I'm here." And the door whisked open, revealing the pale figure that looked almost identical to Malfoy in all ways. In the dark light, Lucius' face had been relaxed, masking the wrinkles and lines that he had received after aging so much. The Battle had, of course, caused such imperfections to come to him too soon and Lucius Malfoy appeared much more older and much more tired than he actually was.

When he walked, it was with a false sense of superiority. Maybe the truth of his social status had not yet sunken in fully, but the lack of luster beind Draco's father's eyes was certainly undeniable. So, yeah, maybe his father hadn't quite got it yet-- the Malfoy's were no longer the most prestige family in the Wizarding World, but he could certainly act as such in the presence of his own son. "Your mother wanted me to come and talk with you."

Unlike other fathers, Lucius Malfoy stood as stiff as a board. He did not approach the bed, nor did he take a seat next to his son. He did not place a hand on top of his boy's shoulder, didn't even attempt to go for comfort. However, he remained statuesque. There was something both so calm and controlling about the head Malfoy as he remained stiff, and his face didn't even offer a twitch. His stillness unnerved Malfoy to no end, but he remained put on his bed, concealing the Muggle object that he knew his father would surely disapprove of.

Malfoy, however, was all nerves. His sly mouth twitched and his eyes darted from the cushions to his father. He did not make complete contact with his eyes, but stared at his face in a whole, watching it slightly blur as he tried to pass off as showing complete concentration. "She did?" he asked with sheer politeness, "and what did she want you to talk to me about?"

"About how your time is being spent, Draco." Lucius shifted, gripped the end of his walking stick rather fiercely. True, the man had lost some of his temper since all his stress had been lifted off of his shoulders, but he still had the same pride. "It has been five years since... everything occurred. You should be venturing out. Lord knows your mother and I have." Malfoy, to show agreement, nodded timidly. The issue was not whether he truly had agreed with his father or not, and it never really was. "She's concerned you've been spending too much time in solitude. And I have to agree with her. You're twenty-two years old now. You can't just keep to yourself. It's not... healthy."

Inside, Draco couldn't control himself. To him, spending time in solitude was much more healthy than pretending everything was alright. Sure, his parents were too prideful to be closeted in the Manor forever, but Draco had truly lost quite a significant amount of pride over the years. And, thinking back on it all, Malfoy could see how those years had taken quite a beating on his personal life, his personality being his title sacrifice. Mentally, he thought to himself, "oh, how time does fly when you're not having any fun..."

But still, he wasn't sure as to what to do next. He shifted, looking a bit dodgy and then, offered his father a slightly childish glance. Looking up meekly, he asked his should-be role model, "what do you propose?"

"Propose?" Lucius quipped, rather shocked that his son had taken such interest or, at least, had bothered to pretend to. He seemed to take a hint of admiration in this, but his satisfaction didn't really last too long. He rest his chin down a bit lower and then additionally squared away his pointed jaw, offering, "we haven't proposed anything, Draco. We just think we should bring this to your attention."

"Well," Malfoy sighed, looking pale and somewhat hurt, "you can tell mother I'm fine. Really. I'll be okay."

Lucius raised an eyebrow, signifying that he truly was quite a caring father, despite being as solid as a rock. "And you're quite certain of this?"

Draco smile sincerely; he was, after all, quite a good liar. "I am absolutely, one-hundred percent positive."

Lucius hesitated. At the knob of his walking stick, his pale fingers slightly shifted. He seemed to consider his son for a moment, taking in just the very presence of him. He had, quite frankly, grown over the years. He was still just as scrawny as ever, and he still looked rather handsome underneath his shaggy burst of white-blond hair. But the undoubtedly malicious look in his eye had gone; a fact that slightly bothered Lucius Malfoy. Maybe his son wouldn't be the cunning man he'd always thought him to become. And the realization that Draco wasn't going to turn into the second generation of Lucius was not a thought that Lucius Malfoy was very fond of. Of course, he'd taken to pushing this thought from his head on the very occasion that it did pop up just to pester him.

"Alright," Lucius did finally say back, slightly weary of his son nonetheless. "I trust you, Draco."

Malfoy bit his lower lip, considering for a moment that lying to his father may not be the right direction. But he was an adult. His father had even said it; he was twenty-two years old. He could make these types of decisions by himself. Besides, his father didn't need to know every little depression detail in his son's life. And, on the whole, Draco didn't desire to tell his father about these facts anyway.

Still, just like an actor, Malfoy replied, "thank you. I'll do my best to show her how content I really am."

"Good," Lucius said, managing what looked like a smile, "well you can start with joining us for dinner. Your mother's been getting quite good at cooking ever since they banned the use of house elves." He finished his last sentence with a variety of bitter carelessness, though managed to regain himself as he said with new discontent, "even if it did take her five years."

"Lovely," Draco smiled, looking as proper as he could muster.

"Be downstairs in five minutes, Draco. You know how your mother doesn't like waiting." With that, Lucius turned on his heels, smiling at his son. Perhaps he'd been appreciative of what he thought to be honesty coming from his son. Malfoy watched his father stride out of his room and waited until the door gently shut behind him. Then, he let out a long breath, relieved. Anxiously, he leaned back against the wall at the post of his bed, and slunk off the bed, allowing himself to clamor to the floor at the skirt. Safe, he thought, for now.

A ping of guilt hit him as he thought about lying to his father. However, the feeling only lasted temporarily. He rest a shaky hand on the front of his chest, feeling his beating heart. With his father so extremely satisfied with him now, breaking his pride would only be a huge misstep. And back pedaling was certainly not one of the things on Draco's to do list. So maybe lying was not the best idea, but it certainly was a necessity. Besides, Draco thought as he remained put feeling his heart beat, what would be the use of telling his father, anyway? He'd only suggest therapy, take him on more of their family outings. Nightmare.

Finally, he picked himself up. Though with a stagger, he did so using the edge of the bed for support. He slipped towards the mirror, regaining his faux posture, and examined his reflection in the mirror. He had begun to look quite tired, though he had been suffering almost five years of being treated as such. And he was tired. So tired that he could hardly stand it. The fact annoyed him bitterly. The war was over, Voldemort was gone. Why did he still feel so... empty?

Sniffling, he straightened his black tie and readjusted the buttons on his white shirt. He even wished for a moment he could find some concealer for the sake of his puffy, sleep deprived eyes. Instead, he slicked back his messy hair, tucked in the end of his shirt into his black trousers, and topped it all off by whipping his runny nose on the sleeve of his once ideal button up.

In the mirror, Malfoy practiced different versions of amused smiles. To no one in particular, he said out loud, "wow, this is exceedingly brilliant, mother," while convicting himself to a pearly white smile. Shifting his weight from side to side, he considered putting on a watch, but wondered if his father would note this as vibrantly over doing it. So, instead, he passed on the watch, remained steady on his feet, and departed from his room, smelling what smelled like a mixture of roast beef and pea soup.

He wasn't particularly hungry. He wasn't really in the mood to sit at the dinner table with his intermediate family, hadn't really felt like doing so for quite some time. Admittedly, he'd felt quite distant from them, though he had for quite some time. Of course, he'd love them and he always would, but something had been broken and he wasn't really sure what himself. Walking down the marble steps to meet with them, he considered it quite a shame to have to face the day that, as their son, he saw through all their foolishness. He remembered a time when he'd perceived them, particularly his father, to be the ideal human being; successful, vibrant, outstanding. And they turned out to be no such thing.

So, really he wasn't in the mood, would never truly be in the mood. But what did that matter now? He didn't really have the choice. Walking in slow paced steps, he squared away his shoulders and prayed that he looked sincere and presentable. Gritting his teeth, he led himself down the long, daunting steps to sit and fake his way through the entire family meal.

Sure, he could put on a pretty face, but inside he was just as miserable as always.

* * *

**Vonne: **REVIEW (:


	8. Pushing It

**Vonne:** Happy New Year! Doesn't it feel refreshing for it to be 2010? Okay, here's what I've been asking just about everyone all week: Is it two-thousand and ten, or twenty-ten now? What do you call it? Personally, I like the sound of twenty-ten. It just sounds more futuristic. And we are all pretty futuristic, aren't we? I mean, we've gone pretty far. I, for one, feel accomplished. Anyway, my last update about my new years resolution being that I'm going to update more was, unfortunately, a joke. I don't have a new years resolution. But I do promise to update, update, update as long as you review as much as you already have! Thanks so much to every one of you. I appreciate it more than you know.

Anyway, the responses below are to all those that asked a question. (;

**Shining Bright Eyes: **First off, thank you so much for all the lovely reviews you've been giving me. I love reading them- as they do make my day. Thank you. I'm so glad that you like what I'm writing and I hope you continue to keep on enjoying it.

**Amandakai: **I'm so glad that you like the concept of this and that you like how everything is going "so far", that means a lot so thank you! As for your concern that it seems to "drag on": I'm definitely trying to stay away from that route, but I'm also trying not to make anything I write seem too cliche fanfiction-wise, if you know what I'm saying. But if it does drag on, that is probably due to the fact that I love writing-- a bit too much at times-- and I'm sure you can even tell in the response I'm writing up now to you! As for the Ron and Hermione story line, I've definitely got that planned in the future of this story, though I must admit, I'd thought I'd already mentioned it. HAH, which was completely false on my part. Turns out I'd only just briefly done so (in chapter 4, the 9th and 10th paragraphs down). I'm so glad you chose to point that out, however, I will definitely try to make the subject more obvious! Thanks so much!

Oh, and from now on I am doing reviewer responses, exactly like the ones above. I appreciate all critique, so, lay them on me. In other words, PLEASE, don't hesitate to ask me any type of question. I can assure you that it will be answered on the next chapter update. So, in conclusion, make me happy.

And now, here is chapter eight.

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**Chapter Eight:  
Pushing It**

Gregory Goyle was laying on his back, spread out widely across the emerald grass. It was drawing towards night time, and they had spent a significant amount of time sitting there together, doing absolutely nothing. But that was beyond the point; Goyle had just wanted to drag Draco into Hogsmeade, having considered a stroll quite possibly therapeutic in Draco's sake. However, he had failed miserably in his goal, falling victim towards being Draco's listener. In fact, the two hadn't moved a significant muscle during the entire time they had been there, which was drawing on two hours now. Using his time wisely, Goyle had tried most of all to ignore Malfoy as he jolted the tiny Muggle toy with his wand consistently. "I wish," Goyle said, although aware of his statement's uselessness, "you would stop doing that."

However, his comment had gone very much ignored. "My father," Draco Malfoy spat as he poked furiously at the tiny radio with the end of his wand, "thinks I'm miserable." Goyle squinted up at Draco from his spot lying on the ground. Malfoy was positioned awfully, with his back slumped against nothing but the bitter air. He looked drunk even when sober and had let his shaggy blond hair flop around his pale face. The front of his shirt was slightly unbuttoned and his black tie hung around his shoulders like a skinny and useless scarf.

"Ah," Goyle nodded, once again shutting his eyes, "and why in the world would your father think a silly thing like that?"

Draco rounded on him anxiously. His eyes burned with icy coldness and he narrowed his eyes to slightly open slits. "Are you _mocking _me, Goyle?" he asked, chilly, and he used his hands to support his faltering stillness.

Goyle once again opened his eyes, just barely peaking through his heavy eyelids. Despite his friend's annoyance, Goyle could see right through him. He lumbered up, using his elbows to support his beefy body, and crossed his legs at his ankles. The sky above him churned with the oncoming evening. Colors of red, orange, and pink blended together just behind the cluster of thick and leafy trees. Knowing he was running thin on time, he spoke rapidly, "you know, Draco, I don't think that being mocked is something you should be concerned about. Your father thinks you're _miserable_ remember? Surely he didn't just come up with an idea like this on his own."

And much to Goyle's dismay, Draco seemed not to catch on to his sarcasm. "That's what I asked myself," he said inquisitively. He seemed to mull his own question over, truly unaware as to what could have possibly caused his father's concern. "Did I tell you that he came up into my bedroom last night? He asked me if I was feeling alright... which is odd..."

Goyle sighed, running a hand across his face. Truly, he wasn't in the mood to play the part as the therapist, but what was his choice. Grumpily, he asked with a lack of any signifying tone, "why is that odd? He's your father. Why can't he be concerned?"

Malfoy reeved back, raising an eyebrow. "Would your father bother to show any concern, Goyle?" When Goyle hesitated, only then did Malfoy allow himself to smile slyly, the only hint of his prior self that Goyle had noticed since meeting up with him. "Huh," Draco laughed slightly, hugging his knees and bringing the radio up to his face all at the same time, "didn't think so."

"That's different," Goyle responded, scrunching up his face. "You know as well as I do that my father is completely incapable of doing such a thing... well, now anyways." For a moment, Goyle fell silent. It had been five years since the death of his father and Goyle had always considered his passing as an ordinary event. Anyway, his father's death was good for him, essential for his success in moving on. Then again, at Draco's mention of the man, Goyle couldn't help but feel a ping of loss in the depths of his chest. His face reddened and he sheepishly sunk back into the grass, regretting that he'd allowed Draco to continue on with the subject at all.

However, Malfoy did not remain oblivious to Goyle's instant concern. He shifted slightly, stumbling around the aspect of saying sorry. However, Goyle only lifted up the palm of his hand, unquestionably forgiving him. Humbly positioned on his back in the dewy grass, Goyle managed to avert the subject to Draco's own father, rather than bring up the subject of his own. Perhaps they both were the ones with Daddy issues, but Goyle was more concerned about Draco, rather than himself. "Don't you think your morose attitude would be giving your father this assumption? It's been--"

"Five years," Draco muttered, "I know."

"You know, I don't think you do. Because someone who fully understands this wouldn't be sitting around all day doing nothing to move forward in life." Goyle swallowed, shading his face from the sinking sun. It wasn't a necessity, though it did allow him to avoid Draco's eyes. Contact with them seemed almost painful, as if connecting with Draco in this way would only permit him to draw on more about his personal unhappiness. The clattering that came from Draco's presence made Goyle wince. "And you need to stop fiddling around with that damn radio!" Instantly, he made a lunge for it, but Malfoy was naturally too quick. He leaned instantly out of the way, whipping the Muggle toy up in the air like a bully playing keep away.

Instead, he stuffed the toy back into his pants and tossed Goyle an annoyed expression, as if he were the one who was tired of the other's ramblings. And maybe he was, but that certainly made two of them. "I'm not fiddling," Draco mumbled once the toy had been stuffed away, out of sight and safe from being kidnapped, "I'm trying to figure out how to mentally murder the bitch on the other end."

Goyle's face fell blank. "Do you even realize how insane you sound right now? Talk about deranged." Malfoy only mumbled to himself, though Goyle didn't bother to try and listen. Instead, he pushed himself back up, fumbling with the ability to regain his determination. "Come on, Draco," he commanded sternly, "get up." Malfoy only squinted up at him, looking utterly lost. However, Goyle took to obliging his own commands. He yanked himself up off the grass with sudden urgency, doing so in fact almost too quickly. He stumbled to his feet with a newfound headache and placed his hands firmly on his rounded hips. "Don't just look up at me like that. Get up, let's go."

Malfoy let his head fall to one side, acting like he couldn't be more tired. "Let's go where?" he asked sleepily, not bothering to hide the dark bags under his gray eyes.

"Into Hogsmeade. We're taking a walk, Malfoy. Yes, we are." At his friend's discontent, Goyle offered out his hand, stiff and unbreakable. "I heard that long walks are--"

"Merlin, Goyle!" Draco said with a smile. "If I didn't know any better I'd think you were trying to pick up on me."

Goyle reeled back in disgust. Then, regaining himself after being the sure butt of his friend's joke, he tossed his head to one side, exhaling impatiently. "Don't be a prat. I know it's difficult, Draco, but shit, for once in your life!" Malfoy stifled his amusement, shoving himself up from the ground. Even slouching, Malfoy still stood taller than Goyle. He plummeted both of his hands into his trouser pockets and beamed boyishly at Goyle, who was only glad that Draco had pulled himself up from the ground in the first place. "Ah, well," he said, analyzing his friend as he stood, ready to go, "that's a start."

Malfoy sniffed, "I'm expecting you to buy me a round as a gracious reward."

Goyle scrunched up his pudgy face, informing Draco hastily, "don't push it."

* * *

All things considered, Goyle wasn't sure what to make of Draco's current get up. He was walking fast paced, his head pitched down to the soles of his polished black shoes, and he'd slipped his massive hood so heavily over his head so that his pointed nose was just barely showing. When he talked, he did so quietly and every so often. His hands he kept inside of his coat pockets, and when he did manage to expose his eyes, they darted around with nervous anticipation. "It's been five years," Goyle reminded Malfoy for the second time that night, "you don't have to disguise yourself every single time you step out in public, Draco."

"Sh!" Malfoy hushed, nudging Goyle hard under the ribs, "don't say my name too loud, for fuck's sake."

Goyle shook his head, tossing his arms out to signify his own comfort. "Look at me, _Malfoy," _he said, purposely enunciating his friend's surname for good effect, "I'm not ashamed to show myself. I'm not hiding out. I'm not hiding from anyone." Goyle walked with slow intentions, though tried to keep up with the fast moving Malfoy. His own hands were thrust out wide, as if inviting someone in.

Then, a new shadow hustled on by the two of them. He locked eyes with Goyle and picked up his pace with complete and absolute determination. Hurrying by he disregarded Goyle completely, knocking him aside with full intention. "Move it, Death Eater," he hissed, and finally vanished in the darkness slowly. At the collision, Goyle stumbled back, his outthrust hands forced limply back down. Stumbling, he whipped his head around to catch the rude passerby, but managed only to look completely dumbstruck in the process. Momentarily, he stood there, lost, but when his eyes found an observing Draco's he swallowed embarrassed and stumbled to bring himself up to an acceptable stance.

Watching like a dark black shadow in the distance, Draco huffed, "oh yeah, I totally get your point now. Loads of good that does you." Nonetheless, Goyle dusted himself off, wiped his sweaty forehead hastily, and sniffled back a runny nose. He walked alongside Draco in silence momentarily, with his own hands pushed down low in his pockets. He didn't, however, bother to hide himself, though he did take up Malfoy's action of checking out the soles of his painfully bland shoes.

"Well, at least I'm trying!" he spat finally, after not being able to quite take the long lasting silence. Irritably, Goyle repositioned his own mess of mousy brown hair. His eyes were glossy with what looked like tears, though he didn't bother to rid himself of them for sake for trying to fool Malfoy. Instead, as if trying to suck them back behind his eye lids, he remained still as he pressed one short and stubby leg over another feebly. "They have a point, anyway. They have every reason to continue on loathing us."

"And yet, you say there's hope," Draco mused, seemingly relishing in the aspect that he may have been right all along.

Goyle furrowed his eyebrows, concentrating on every word he was trying to say. "They don't all hate us, Draco. There are some days where people act completely normal around me--"

"Oh!" Draco huffed sarcastically, "how lucky of you! There are some days where people treat you normally? What a great way to live. Some days, huh?" Finally Malfoy tossed his own hands up, as if he were only just about to attempt the same stunt as Goyle. Though he thrust them back down with furious haste, slamming them bitterly at his side with an angrily bitter grin, "Merlin, it's a miracle!"

"At least it's something!" Goyle hissed, finally looking up. He lunged forward, attempting to remove Draco's hood from over his eyes though, snakelike, Draco slid away. Shaking his head, Goyle only mumbled, "shit."

"Don't try to drag me down along with you, Goyle," Draco whispered, "you may be alright with living like that, but I'm sure as hell not okay with it. In fact, I'm far from okay with it. Why'd I even agree to come out with you anyways?"

Walking silently, Goyle bit his lower lip. So much for proving a point to Draco. With his previous plans so obviously having failed, he lowered his head and let his shoulders sink low, thankful that Malfoy was too buried under his hood to notice. "Forget about the people that are still angry with us, okay? The majority of people in the Wizarding World are accepting." He added with an uplifting high note, "that's the new thing lately. Acceptance. You'll come to find it's all the rage."

Malfoy only shook his head. Blinking under his dark hood, he sighed, "and you think I'm deranged?" With that, he grabbed the side of the nearest pole and swung himself with full force into the closest pub, completely disappearing from Goyle's intermediate sight.

Once again, Goyle sighed miserably. Obviously he had failed to reach Draco miserably. What else was there to do then to face to consequences? He turned around on his heels, rolling his eyes, and marched into the pub on his own, wincing slightly at the dim light that emulated in the dodgy little place. At once he spotted Malfoy, who had already positioned himself at the end of the bar, his slender arm sticking up anxiously, prepared to order himself a drink. "So," Goyle said, advancing forward, "you're just going to keep drinking, huh?" Still hidden, Draco's hood flopped slightly as he nodded aggressively. "And you're not going to even think about what I said to you earlier?"

Not even hesitating to consider Goyle's question, Malfoy barely moved when he said, "nope. I think I'll just skip right to downing hard liquor, please. Excuse me! Oy!"

Goyle rolled his eyes, defeated, "how noble of you."

Seated next to Draco in the dark building, Goyle's own confidence seemed to slowly waver. However, realizing this all at once, he shook his throbbing head. No, in no way would he possibly let a downer like Draco drag him to that awful level. He squared his jaw, regaining himself, and lunged forward as the bartender approached Malfoy, a tiny shot in the palm of his hand. "Don't you dare," Goyle warned the man threateningly, and spun towards his friend, grabbed him by the arm, and whisked him off the barstool with a gust of almost incomprehensible strength. In fact, such a strong grip he'd hand on Draco's arm, that he didn't let go until he'd whisked the boy out the back door and shoved him furiously into the back alley.

Stumbling backwards on impact, Malfoy tripped over the backs of his own feet, letting out a quivering yelp, and fell over the cylindrical trash bins in one big hefty heap. For the first time that night, it was his sure time to look up dumbstruck. His mouth open in disbelief, Draco's eyes found Goyle's, who stood tall and muscular above him on two still feet. "Goyle!" Draco croaked from the ground, his palm having been slightly scuffed and bleeding, "what the hell!"

Goyle breathed in through his nostrils. Like a bull, he could almost envision the white steam coming from his nose and floating around his reddened face. "Get. It. Together." Huffing, he could almost feel the urge to lean forward and sock Malfoy in the face, however, his newfound containment kept him from doing so. With one heavy thrust of his entire body, he collided his massive back into the side of the brick building and slunk down to the cement to meet Malfoy's level. He pushed his stubby legs out in front of him, tilted his head into the palms of his own hands, and pressed his eyes shut so tight that he's started to see stars. "I'm not going to let you drink your entire life away, Malfoy."

"And who's choice is that to make, Goyle?" Draco spit, whisking himself off of the ground with sheer fury. He staggered to regain his posture and examined his bruised and bleeding hands. Having examined their completely mauled fronts, he took to tossing them down at his side and, heated, he shouted breathlessly, "shit!"

But Goyle rest on the floor, equally unhappy. "It's your choice, you're right. It's your choice because it's your life! But I'm your friend and I'm telling you that you can't just drink your whole life away! You're going to end up moping around... or worse, you could bloody well kill yourself. Is that what you want, huh? To die a miserable old man?"

"No!" Draco roared, racing towards Goyle with a red face of his own. When he'd reached him, he kneeled down and whisked his finger out in Goyle's direction, hovering it just barely in front of his nose as if offering him a threat. "You know what? You're wrong. Truth of the matter is I'd rather it that I die now, is that better?"

At once Goyle's face faded, his shoulders sinking almost lower than before. All the fury in his face had drained and he watched Draco as he stood above him, huffing wildly, his eyes burning with undoubtable rage. There was no mistaking Malfoy's intent and Goyle knew that he was at risk of being considerably socked in the face, however, as Goyle continued to watch Malfoy above him, he considered the fact that maybe Draco's threats were nothing but empty. The threat of being destroy had completely vanished and Goyle proceeded to only see Malfoy as a desperate, pathetic, and lonely human being. "What are you going to do?" Goyle asked miserably, his tone calm and almost soothing, "curse me?"

Draco flinched, as if Goyle had only just considered the idea for the first time. He fumbled slightly and then let his free hand dive into his pea coat, whisking out his wand without any questions. However, his uncertainty proved strong. Once he'd lifted the thing to Goyle's large nose he only continued his breathing, not allowing the fierceness to drop from his glare.

The two stood there for a moment, looking both fierce and unafraid. Then, with a massive groan, Malfoy pulled his wand away from the front of his friend's face with great force and spun around on his heels. When he turned back around to face Goyle, he had stuffed his wand back into his pocket, though his stance remained heavy and furious. Goyle's hand moved to pull himself back to his feet again, but Malfoy stuck his hand out in protest, "don't bother," he said, "I'll take myself home."

"Draco, come on. I didn't mean--"

"To what, Goyle? You know what? Your method of therapy isn't working. Obviously." As Malfoy shouted into the streets of the alleyway, his harsh voice echoed around the two of them, bouncing off the wall mercilessly. "I'm doing just fine on my own, if you haven't noticed. I don't need your help."

Goyle's breath had returned to normal. The color in his face had slightly begun to regain itself. Whatever anger had overtook him previously had begun to drain and staring at Malfoy he felt nothing but sheer pity. "Everyone needs a some help, Draco."

"Well, I don't want it." Draco huffed and finally slunk back against his side of the building. Wearily he ran the front of his clammy palm over the front of his face and when he finally looked up, there was no mistaking the sadness in his face. He allowed himself time to catch his breath and, when he did so, he swallowed a rather large lump in his throat. Then, without hesitation, he stumbled away from the wall, forced himself into the center of the alleyway, and stared down into the streets, looking morose and hollow. "I-I'm g-going home now, Goyle. Alone."

Though Goyle didn't quite believe him. In fact, he was more than sure that Draco would only take back to the pub the moment his foot touched the streets of Hogsmeade again. However, Goyle was not about to try and convince Draco to do otherwise. Accepting his night's defeat, he tried, "hey, Draco, I've invited Pansy over to my place for a drink tomorrow night. She hasn't seen you in five years." Shrugging, he tried once again, "it'd be nice if you'd showed up. She'd love to catch up on things, you know. Just the three of us again..."

But Draco's mind was already focused on the streets ahead of him and, lifting up his hand, he said with his back facing Goyle, "yeah, we'll see," and disappeared behind the brick wall completely. His steps were slow, however extended outwards with quick desires. He focused on nothing but his feet and the ground alone. Goyle, as it turned out, was wrong; he was not going to bother to enter the pub, had almost completely lost interest in doing anything but going to sleep in his own bedroom by himself. He longed for nothing more than to submit himself to total darkness and bury himself under the heavy covered, slinking in to yet another sleepless night. However, footsteps ahead of him grabbed his attention instantly. He braced himself, sinking under his hood sheepishly. Only the footsteps echoed throughout his mind and his heart beat hard inside his skeleton.

However, walking with his head thrust downward proved rather unsuccessful and he came shoulder to shoulder with the new shadow almost instantly. The impact was sharp and, stumbling back, Draco reached eagerly for his hood, which slid easily off of his face. Hunching low, he pulled the thing back over his head, and felt around for the wand he'd felt slip out of his coat pocket. "Oh my Gosh!" came a female voice, earnest and sorry. On the gravel, Draco could hear her kneel down. She extended a hand and placed it simply on his shoulder.

The touch of her palm, even over the thickness of his coat, was warm on impact and, not suspecting such a thing, Draco reeled backwards, his hands gripping his dark hood. "I am so sorry!" the voice cooed, undoubtedly sweet beyond all her concern. "Are you alright?"

Draco mumbled timidly, "'M fine," and his determination to find his wand quickly doubled. He wanted nothing more than to get out of there, to go home and go to sleep.

Though the voice seemed to sense his despair. Nonetheless, she proved to have the answer. "It's okay," she said, knowing exactly what Draco had been looking for. Though she couldn't see his face, she managed a smile and hope he was returning it on his own. "I've got it." Extending her other hand forward, Draco's intruded offered Draco his wand softly. "This is what you're looking for, right?" Draco's blood ran cold, thanking God that it was too dark for anyone to recognize his wand.

His sweaty hands reached out and he grabbed his wand anxiously, muttering a timid, "thank you." Then, feeling slightly more at fault, he added politely, "I'm sorry. I- I wasn't paying attention."

"Oh no, really" the woman smiled, offering her hand out. She placed it warmly on Draco's slender shoulder and tilted her head to one side, "it's completely my fault. I wasn't paying attention." To further prove her point, she lifted up a heavy looking book and waved it around briskly in the air before her. "It's these books, really. I get a new one and my focus is just drained in them. So, really, don't worry about it."

With her hand on top of her shoulder, even over the thickness of Draco's coat, Malfoy couldn't deny the sheer warmness that he'd felt at the woman's touch. However, he resisted falling into it. In the darkness, he slunk lower into the safety of his hood, feeling mild despite the thumping beat that emulated from his very skeleton. And then, all at once it hit him. Heart sinking and chest dropping, he felt weary and light headed. Why he hadn't noticed it before was beyond him. Her books and her warm, helpful voice.

Hermione Jean Granger. She sat, kneeling, her hand now almost a bother on Draco's shoulder. He felt hot and embarrassed underneath his hood and his desire to go to sleep was now stronger than ever. As Hermione tilted her head to peer underneath Draco's hoods, he lifted his hands up defensively, pulling his coat down impossibly low. Draco's chest plummeted, his eyes wide underneath all the darkness. Then, instantly, he staggered to his feet, stumbling over himself with unshakable nerves. Once he'd reached a comfortable stance, he placed his head downward at his feet, sniffed, and tried to act as unaware as possible. However, at his brash actions, Hermione lifted an inquisitive eyebrow, smiling almost nervously. She laughed anxiously and then placed a strand of wavy brunette hair behind her ear. "Are you sure you're quite alright?" she asked curiously, as if she sensed something off about Draco right away.

Malfoy's heart skipped a beat and, mumbling he assured her, "I'm positive, thank you." He slunk his shoulder away and Hermione's hand fell off of his body in one swift motion. Embarrassed, she tucked her hands away and offered Draco a timid smile.

However, Hermione was quick on noticing the man's instant discomfort. She regained herself, shaking her head as if trying to rid an uneasy thought from her mind. "Okay," she said shakily, "well I really should get going then. It's getting late." Nodding, Draco managed to keep his mouth shut. "Okay, well have a nice night."

Coughing, Malfoy said with a rather low voice, "yeah, you too."

With that Hermione took off, looking over her shoulder only once to get another look at the man before regaining herself, as if forgetting the incident altogether. Without another attempt, she dove back into her book and vanished completely.

But Draco couldn't manage moving himself. He only stood, quite pathetically, in the middle of the newly deserted streets, his fingers around the width of his wand sweatily. His breath ran cold and, this time, he could truly see it as it danced like mist in front of his face. The warmth he'd felt was only just starting to subside and as his body finally succumbed into it's natural chilliness, he stumbled back home, not all that tired anymore.

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**Vonne: **REVIEW!


	9. As You Always Were

**Vonne: **Thanks so much for all the reviews. I'm trying on making my little entries here as short as possible to leave room for all your reviews. So, anyway, I've tried my best to answer your questions below. Look to see if yours is there!

Now, here it is... chapter nine!

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**Chapter Nine:  
As You Always Were**

Draco Malfoy straightened his tie, fixed his faltering posture, and extended a hand towards the lumbering door. Goyle's place wasn't much on the outside, but, what did he expect? Since the end of the war, Goyle had made it known that he'd gotten a small job, though he didn't specify, and managed to just barely make it on his own, sans the company of his parents. The exterior of his school friend's home was small, a bit too square, and covered in emerald vines, more likely due to the fact that Goyle was too lazy to even bother to conjure them down rather than the notion that he'd simply just liked the look of them. More surprisingly Draco was shocked to find that there was not any sign of a welcome mat at the foot of the door, since Goyle had so obviously been taken up in the craze of being more friendly. However, with the sick notion boiling up in the pit of his already nauseous stomach, Draco recoiled away his hand and decided maybe he'd turn back now when he saw he really had a chance.

Why had he even come there in the first place? The night before he had been so sure he wouldn't have done such a thing. However, his run in with Hermione may have had more than a fraction to do with it. He'd thought, perhaps he did need to see his old friends again, since old enemies like Hermione Granger were making him feel a bit better, for the truth of the matter. Then again, the thought of being comforted by the likes of her slightly unnerved him. It wasn't, of course, that he'd loathed her, had never truly hated her since the end of his sixth year at Hogwarts. In fact, she'd been making him slightly nervous for quite some time and that particularly was where his problem in lied. One ultimatum whisked through his mind as he stood at Goyle's door stiff as a board: what would you rather it be? Find comfort in the people you used to not be able to stand a little more, or find in the people you couldn't stand just a little less?

He'd decided on Goyle and Pansy, whom he'd only loathed on occasion. However, even this decision had proved eager to come back and haunt him. Still quite unsure about the whole business, he slunk away from the door, jittery and sweating, and allowed himself to fall back against the vine-covered walls that overwhelmingly tainted Goyle's new home. Perhaps it was the simple concept that shook him. Goyle was on his own now, standing considerably on two feet, despite his ability to consider the fact that not many liked him. But maybe Draco lacked that ability, and heavily so.

So, no, maybe he wouldn't pay Goyle a visit. Perhaps he preferred his company in solitude. "Oy! Draco!" A beckoning voice from about him made Draco's shoulders sink. Of course, Goyle wasn't going to let him run out on him that easily and Draco had been foolish to think anything else otherwise. He had been, after all, quite the opposite of what he'd always remembered him to be. "I didn't think you were coming!" Goyle was perched out his window, his large body just barely fitting through it. His hand was held out and he lifted up a tiny tea cup, the smoke trailing out from the top like a gray burst of mist. "Well," he said when Draco only remained standing, "don't just sit there... it's unlocked."

Malfoy's eyes shifted briskly; so it seemed there was no comfortable way out of this one. Bracing himself, he straightened up, nodded morosely, and walked stiffly towards the front door, whisked it open, and took in the smell of tea instantly. "Holy shit, Goyle," Draco mourned, shaking his head bitterly, "I was aware that you'd changed, but I didn't think you'd turned into a house wife!"

Goyle's heavy footsteps clamored down the stairs and when he'd came into view, even Draco couldn't help but reeve backwards. He'd looked no more proper than Lucius Malfoy at family reunions. In fact, he could have fit into the family quite well. As polished as he appeared, his hair was slicked back and his teeth shinny from having been brushed continuously. There was not a miserable look about his face and even his eyes sparkled with excitement. Suddenly aware of his own sloppy presence, Malfoy raised an inquisitive eyebrow, asking suspiciously, "Tea? Nice clothing? Goyle, enlighten me: what's the occasion?"

"Pansy isn't here yet," Goyle mused, giving his house one more glance over. "But she'll be here and I thought, why not make the place look nice? Me included."

Draco only nodded carefully. "Ah," he said with careless intentions, "I shouldn't have asked."

Goyle's previously perfect posture flickered. He dropped the falsely superb facial expressions and frowned a rather ugly one. "What," he asked blandly, without any specific tone to his voice, other than that of being most certainly unamused.

Rolling his eyes, Draco scooped up the extra tea cup that had been set out for him. He tipped the thing up to his thin lips and watched Goyle stir over the thin edge of it. When Goyle only stood there, waiting impatiently for an answer, Draco replied defensively, "nothing! Forget it," though he couldn't help but grace his face with a sly little smile of his own. "I just thought, you being a changed man and everything, that you'd have gotten over Pansy by now."

Goyle's entire posture fell. In fact, for good measure, he whipped off his coat, tossed it on the back of the sofa, and pressed his lips harshly together. "Is it such a bad thing, Draco, to try and look put together for once? For fuck's sake..." He carried on, ignoring Draco's inevitable little giggles, and flopped himself down on the sofa looking weary and tired and, for the most part, rather embarrassed. "Besides," he said, after looking back at Malfoy who hadn't moved from his spot on the ground, "at least I tired." Malfoy only raised his brows and kept his arms crossed along his chest. Sipping his admittedly awful tasting tea, he decided to keep his unsatisfactory opinions to himself. He even remained stone-faced as Goyle noted, "you look like you didn't even bother to change clothes since yesterday night."

Shrugging, Draco shrugged honestly, "I didn't."

"Lovely," Goyle sneered.

However, Draco wasn't given much time to come up with a response. A slightly aggressive, but most definitely delicate, little knock came on the door and both boys looked up at one another. Malfoy only raised a brow, though Goyle's otherwise sunken and disappointed hopes seemed to quickly lift. He nodded anxiously over and Draco, yanked himself up from the couch with haste, and stumbled towards the door as he reached back towards the sofa and pulled his coat through over each lumbering arm. Before he approached the door he inhaled, smoothed back his already picture perfect head of hair and made a jab at the door knob, reeling it open perhaps with too much anticipation.

Open and ready to compliment, Goyle's little mouth gave a tiny twitch before being cut off by Pansy, who's shadow was only just barely visible. "Goyle!" she practically sang eagerly, "always a pleasure!" She strode into the light, shifted brashly in her navy blue coat, and pushed her bob-like dark hair back behind her ears, revealing two spectacular diamond earrings. Goyle only gawked; true, he'd seen Pansy quite often, though he was very commonly struck by her. Smiling with sweet affliction, she cooed breathlessly, "now, where is he? Where's Draco?"

"Here," Malfoy spoke up, not bothering to move a muscle. He lifted a hand only just barely and offered her a smug grin in the distance. Looking onward, Goyle bit his lower lip, completely baffled by the lack of interest Malfoy seemed to show Pansy with every visit. He hadn't, after all, seen the woman in five years and still he bothered to pay her no such attention. However, noting Goyle's annoyance, Draco swallowed hard, pressed himself forward as if to play the part of a good guest, and set down his steaming cup of tea. Arms spread limply wide, he tried harder, "ah, Pansy, always a pleasure."

"Always a pleasure?" Pansy huffed, knocking down Draco's hands with one swat of her own, "surely you could think of something more appropriate to indulge me with."

"Alas," Goyle said, saving his friend in ways more than he knew, "Draco's ability to indulge has been overshadowed by his far keener indulgence with liquor."

Malfoy nodded, offering a boy like expression when he said in complete agreement, "true."

Gaping, Pansy locked her stare with Draco only for a moment. Then, she allowed herself to smile once again, patting Malfoy on the shoulder, "well, at least he has a hobby." Finally she strode from both men and sat down floppily on Goyle's couch, crossing one thin and long leg over another. Draco scrutinized her quickly, hoping she hadn't caught him looking. She was, quite honestly, very attractive. She had kept her hair short and cropped just below her chin, which ended her lovely face in a heart shaped point. Her hands, which were covered in dark blue gloves, were slender and graceful upon the top of her crossed knees, and her delicate little feet danced around through the air in elegant circles.

She had not overdone herself with makeup either, relying on her more natural features to get her by. Her long and dark eyelashes swung freely before her face as she talked and flirted and she managed to look everything but nervous. When Goyle offered her a cup of her own tea, she took it instantly, peering over the rim of it as she sipped, though mostly keeping her gaze on Malfoy. Draco considered her in general and he noted instantly that she hadn't seemed to chance in the slightest. "So, Pansy," he bemused rather rudely, "what have you been up to as of lately?"

"You mean as of five years?" Pasny asked, humoring him with the same unmistakably harsh tone. "Keeping to myself. You know, I have been getting out of the house a lot. It is good for me." Draco grimaced, tossing Goyle a bitter glance before returning his focus back to Pansy. Of course Goyle had told Pansy that Draco kept to himself. Why wouldn't he have? Sitting on the couch opposite the woman, next to Goyle, Draco thought of five different ways to absolutely murder his friend once Pansy did leave. "It's not all that tough anymore, though I have always been blessed with the gift of being a woman. That always seems to calm those bitter old men down. I seem to find that after about ten minutes in my presence, they're more than thrilled with the idea of me being around."

"So," Malfoy said, feeling the urge to interject rise furiously behind his lips, "is that what Goyle invited you over here for? To show me how life isn't one uncontrollably downward sinking hole?" Stiffly he smiled with such bitter expression that Pansy even blinked, dumbstruck.

"Of course not," she lied, though her fibs were not as top-notch as Draco's. Instantly, he caught on and, downing the rest of his tea like a shot of vokda, he cocked his head to one side, bowed politely and made a hasty effort towards the door. "Wait, Draco!" Pansy cried out, loosing a sense of her previously seductive attitude. "Don't go!"

However, Malfoy was gone before she could rise up from the couch to stop him. Opposite her, Goyle shut his eyes, had buried his pudgy face in the palms of his massive hands and seemed instantly to check out entirely. Looking back from Goyle to the door, Pansy thrust her hand bag to the mattress of the couch and followed Malfoy's exiting steps, hot in pursuit. She whisked the door open, leaving Goyle alone in his overly cleaned house, and stood momentarily at the doorstep until she located the vanishing vision of Malfoy as he staggered away from the house. "Oy!" she called out, sounding more like the girl-version of her self that Draco had not long forgotten, "what the hell is your problem?"

"My problem?" Draco shouted over the rushing wind. He was almost 100 yards away from her, and his voice was haunting, almost hoarse in all it's anger. "You're asking me about my problem? Don't make me laugh. And, another thing, I don't need Goyle's help and I certainly don't need yours, okay?"

"I'm not trying to help you," Pansy hissed, advancing forward with balled fists, "and thinking so is entirely selfish!"

"So then," Draco said, huffing as he watched her come towards him, "what the hell are you trying to do, huh? Trying to turn me into a dellusional object of society? Well, no thanks. I've already told Goyle I'd rather drink my life away then--"

"Shut up!" Pansy cried, flinging her arms through the air as if she'd truly had enough. "Do you ever even listen to yourself talk? Draco, you make no sense when you're angry. Now listen to me: I'm not trying to help you. I don't want to help you. Goyle, now he may be, but I don't want to fix you. I like you just the way you are... the way you always were."

Draco blinked, wincing slightly. He looked back at Goyle's house and then, when his eyes found Pansy again, he noticed a bit of longing her her eyes. She took one last final step towards him, now so close to him in the wind that her hair whipped around her face and he hit his numb cheeks in the process. Her slender fingers gripped his face, coddled him underneath his hardened cheek bones and all he could do was freeze. "Pansy..." he started off, feeling both sorry and angry with her. Butterflies launched up in his stomach. What if Goyle could see her now? What if he managed to get up from the couch and actually catch a glimpse of him with her? "Pansy, I am not a nice person. You shouldn't have ever liked me how I was... then or now."

Shrugging, Pansy said thoughtlessly, "who needs nice people? Kindness is overrated." There was a tint of water in her eyes, though she didn't let any tears fall from her face. Instead, she took to brushing back Draco's own unruly blond hair, pushing it slowly behind his own ears, now red from the cold. Then she advanced on him fully, lunging forward with such eagerness that she almost knocked him over in the process. Her lips touched his so fiercely and they felt cold and unusual on his face. He stood stupidly, allowing her to do all the work, too numb to move.

He'd never even seemed to realize that Pansy had any sort of romantic feelings for him, never had any clue. Though, as she moved her lips around his seemingly dead ones, he figured that everything did make sense now. The flirting, the extra attention. Through Draco's entire ordeal with the war and the Death Eaters, he'd been too preoccupied to take notice to her. And now, when it all came to it, all he could manage to do was to stand there stupidly, allowing her to pull him in close. He didn't feel anything special as he allowed her to kiss him, though he felt a strong ping of guilt and enthusiastic pity. But Pansy was eager and when she pulled away there was a look of confusion etched on her face. "What's wrong?"

"Pansy. I'm not the same person that I was five years ago." Draco said, not bothering to pull away. Instead, he hung there loosely, avoiding her eyes. The feeling of extreme embarrassment overtook him rapidly. He tried to prevent himself from sweating or saying something rude. He couldn't possibly think to push her away; he hadn't seen her in five long years, and such a move would be, at most, awkward. He did, however, say to her shakily, "I haven't been that person for a long time. I'm not my father, I'm not a Death Eater."

"Well, then," Pansy sniffed, letting her fingers trail down from Draco's face. She let her hands linger at the edge of his chin and she brushed it sweetly, "I'm sure I'll like whoever it is you've become. Who is it that are you now?

Shrugging, Draco spun around from Pansy's grip, forcing her hands to fumble to her side uselessly. "I don't even know anymore," he sighed and once again he started down the path, ignoring the huffs from Pansy as he did so. It didn't take long to loose the ability to be able to hear her calling him back to her, though he pushed her cries away hastily and continued down away from the house as fast as he could. Not even therapy would have know what to do with him now. So, plunging his hands into his pockets, he fiddled with the tiny radio, wondering why he'd even brought it along with him in the first place...

"You still there?" Draco said into it after his long bit of calling his tests into the speakers. There was a slight pause, a ruffle of something through the other end, and then something grunting. Draco, along the gravel road, looked back, seeing just the faintest hint of Pansy's shadow. She had given up calling for him, and her hands hung loosely at her sides. Around her slender frame, her navy robes flapped about vibrantly, a beautiful yet undesirable ghost in the distance.

The static gruff from the radio spooked him enough, though. "So," came the voice, now most certainly that of a female. There was something familiar to the ring of it, though Draco couldn't quite make it out underneath all of its hostility. However, he couldn't help but feel slightly better about his afternoon when he voice came again, saying, "you've come crawling back."

"Seems so," Draco said, just as casually, though he couldn't quite mask the misery that tainted his otherwise pitch perfect voice. "So did you."

"Didn't think I'd go away that easily, did you? Thought you could scare me off."

"I still think I can."

The voice chuckled, a bit girlishly, and then huffed before regaining its composure, "alright then, try me."

Malfoy leaned back, having walked far enough into the forrest near Goyle's house to come in contact with a cluster of trees. He wasn't going home anyway, he was going to the pond, probably the only place where he could think of going anyway. The pond was, in all aspects, satisfactory enough. Besides, no one really ventured there much anymore and Draco quite enjoyed his solitude there. "In due time," he sighed, this time more down than he'd wished to have hoped.

"Huh." The voice said, a little bit concerned. "Funny, it's weird to hear you sound so miserable."

Stumbling beyond the brush, Malfoy shrugged, "why's that?"

"Well, the last time we'd talked you'd been almost too hostile."

"The last time I'd had probably a bit too much to drink," Malfoy admitted, though he wasn't exactly sure why. Momentarily he considered remaining angry with the voice, but now, having embarrassed himself in front of both of his childhood friends, he was stripped of as much anger as he had left. "I'm still unhappy with you, though," he informed the voice feebly, as if to convince himself alone.

Laughing, the responder said carefully, "ah, well that makes two of us. So," the woman on the other end side, "why _are_ you so unhappy?"

Draco's mouth flew open. For a swift moment he considered verbally chewing out the woman with all he could think of. Why was it that she considered him miserable just by the very sound of his voice? Was he truly that obvious? However, he stuck to keeping calm, slapped a hand across his face, and felt the notion of desiring to cry overtake him. And why? Such an action would only convince him that he truly was loosing it. So, he sucked it up, coughed a bit too spastically, and said through the speakers, "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

To which the female voice responded testily, "I don't know why I'm still listening." Though she said so with an earnest care that made Draco Malfoy smiile slightly, despite the circumstances.

"Me neither."

Huffing once again, the female barked playfully, "alright, don't push it. We're talking about you here, last time I checked." Ah, perhaps Draco had been wrong about the woman after all. Sure she'd been quite intolerable at times, but he quite admired her sarcastic wit.

Maybe he could use a therapist and the radio, he considered briefly, was his own way of achieving one. This way he didn't even have to look his therapist in the face. Feeling slightly safer behind his secrecy, he staggered through the brush, found the shadow of the sparkling pond, and flopped down to his knees before taking a seat. "I don't know, well, thats not true. It started several years ago. Long before the war... maybe sometime around my fifth year at school."

"School?" The voice asked, gently, "what school?"

Malfoy looked up from the palms of his hands, this time laughing, "ah, ah, ah, what do you take me for?"

"Sorry," the voice beamed, "had to ask."

Against the trunk of the tree, Malfoy slunk lower, slunk so low that he was pitted on his back against the dewy grass mercilessly. He didn't flinch when the water seeped slightly through his shirt. In fact, he felt slightly comfortable as he did so, relaxing into the earth for the first time in a long time. The night had pitted on him faster than he'd expected. "Anyway," he added, "my friends think I should talk to a therapist." Biting his lip, he waited for the voice to agree with his unnamed friends, because that, of course, was what everyone had been doing. Therapy was, in their minds, the only answer. However, whatever Draco Malfoy had against therapy was foreign to him. Maybe, just maybe, he hadn't quite lost his stubbornness.

"Therapy is not the only answer," the voice came back to him with, "though he helps when you've got someone to talk to."

Freezing, Draco was half in the middle of running his hand through his hair. He froze, staring at the pond of water and then back at the radio in his hands. "Yeah," he said, feeling slightly warmer in the freezing cold water, "it does... just a little. But that... that doesn't mean they're right."

"Oh, no," the voice teased back, "not at all. Don't worry you can sleep soundlessly tonight. What they don't know won't hurt them."

"Very true." Draco beamed, very much liking this woman's way of thinking.

"However," she continued, "that doesn't include me. See, I like to know certain things. So, I will be your mysterious therapist of sorts, if you agree to tell me exactly what you are trying to scare me of."

"And what would you possibly gain out of listening to me speak?"

"Ah, well," the woman chuckled, "it does tickle my impervious sense of being curious."

Malfoy considered this. So she was curious, but sooner or later, she'd be dying to know less and less. "Alright, darling," Draco mused as if drunk, though he was currently anything but. "I'll make you a deal."

"Hm," the voice considered, "and what would that deal be?"

"The deal is this: I'll tell you whatever you want to know... anonymously," Draco added with a sense of fascination. The woman was, quite frankly, a very clever girl. However, having fun riding on his sense of superiority, he said with a cocky intake of breath, "you won't even get through the majority of it before I manage to scare you off."

There was a pause, and then a sigh as the woman responded, "I'm pretty hard to scare off." Though the stench in her tone reeked of knowingness, as if she understood much more than he'd have possibly anticipated.

"Ah, we'll see about that," Draco responded with a tongue-in-cheek attitude. "So, deal?"

Another momentarily break overtook the two of them. Then, finally, without question, the woman said with anxious determination, "deal."

* * *

**Vonne: **Reviews make me smile.


	10. Of Falling in Love

**Vonne: **Coming back and trying to update as fast as possible is hard, but so worth it. Thanks so much for all the interest you all have taken in this so far. I hope that you're liking it as much as I enjoy writing it. Anyways, look below if you've asked a question in your review. I've answered whatever questions you have posted for you! So, of course, check it out.

**amandakai: **Of course I didn't take it offensively! I actually admire constructive reviews because that way it kind of allows me to pay more attention- focus a lot better than I probably would have without it. I do promise once again that most of it has a point and, if anything, will be of use further along in this. All the little things build a better connection between Hermione and Draco, something I'm trying to do slowly, but quickly at the same time (if that makes any sense at all). Anyway, I'm so glad that you do like what I have so far. This chapter does have use to it. But I swear, I have something exciting planned... honest! Thanks for reading, I appreciate it very much! And I love your reviews, by the way, they're long-- awesome! (:

**Shining Bright Eyes: **Yes! I love writing about both Lucius and Draco together. Because I think, all things considered, Lucius does love his son. So, there will be more of the two of them coming. I hope you'll be happy with it!

**Thwarted Moody: **Thanks so much for your review. You actually motivated me to get this chapter updated so soon. After this I think everything is going to happen really fast so I'm hoping that you all consider that to be a good thing! Thanks again.

**Anavell: **Thank you! (: I'm glad you liked it. I wrote and rewrote it over and over so, really, you have no idea how happy I am to hear that you liked Hermione and Draco's conversation. In the spirit of that, I had them have a slightly deeper one in this chapter, as well. Hopefully you'll like it just as much!

And, now, finally, chapter ten.

* * *

**Chapter Ten:  
Of Falling in Love**

Draco Malfoy was sitting in what could be most appropriately described as a daze. Feeling light headed and a bit stuffy, he considered his discomfort as being symptoms of not having had anything to drink in a matter of two days straight. And that, solely, was what was worrying him. Being sober wasn't exactly the most healthy state of mind for Malfoy currently and he figured that, having been drinking for such a long length of time, such a sudden break from it was not good for his body. The aches and cramps were one thing, though his anti-hungover headache provided him with his biggest clue. Furthermore, as he sat at the tiny lunch table, he made the quick and golden decision to get straight to back drinking as soon as the moment allowed him to.

For the moment, however, he resided, gritting his teeth and sitting through it. All the while, Goyle, who had sat opposite him, did not seem to take any notice. He leaned forward, poured his friend more water, and continued to talk about whatever it was that he had been going on about since their lunch had begun. Truth be told, Draco had only agreed to lunch because he'd felt bad about what had happened with Pansy, though Goyle didn't have to know the details. In fact, however, Goyle seemed as right as rain, simply relishing in the fact that Draco had agreed to come along with him in the first place. "You know," Goyle said, pausing slightly in the midst of his ramblings, "this is nice. Isn't this a nice place. It's not too packed and not too expensive."

Mentally, Draco rolled his eyes. Translation to what Goyle was really saying: this place does not serve hard liquor. However, Draco Malfoy hadn't truly been listening to Gregory Goyle. He blinked casually, scanned the little diner, and decided to agree with his friend, despite so obviously being opposed to the restaurant's menu of drinks. "Yeah, it's..." he paused, thinking of a word that could prove to be considerable appropriate, and finally settled on, "adequate."

"Adequate?" Goyle questioned, raising an eyebrow. He took to scanning the place on his own, shrugged his shoulders, and said wearily, "alright, adequate it is then." Pausing, Goyle watched Malfoy pick at his plate. Perhaps Draco didn't know exactly why he'd wanted to take him out to a nice restaurant, though Goyle wasn't about to let him on to anything he had planned. True, he was only just trying to show him that he _could _get out, and even though Draco looked absolutely ridiculous underneath all his disguise clothes, coming out in the day time was, after all, a hefty first step. Then again, he figured he owed the outing to his friend, since his last attempt with Pansy didn't go exactly too... swimmingly.

However, Draco was the one who seemed the most nervous. He fiddled with the thick scarf around his neck, yanked his cap down lower on his face, and drummed his fingers on the surface of the table top. Though Goyle only acted as if such behavior were normal and he said, glancing over his left over plate, "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," though even he couldn't mask his sarcasm.

Draco shook his head, "not funny," he scolded, pointing his fork almost hostly in Goyle's direction.

"Alright," Goyle continued, laughing. He was quite honestly just glad to get Malfoy talking again, since most of their lunch had been spent in silence. Besides, Draco was a horrible small talker. It was true that Goyle was concerned about his friend. He really just wanted to see Draco move on with life- to keep living. And maybe he'd desired it so much just to know that it was possible, but either way, he was determined to make it happen. Because, really, the two of them weren't the kids that they had been. Sitting at his seat, rather stuffed from eating so much food, Goyle considered himself, for example.

After having come back from the Muggle world he had, as cliche as it sounded even now, gained an entirely new outlook on life. Being the lowest of the low had been much more awful than he'd anticipated. Though getting away from it all, it had been rather admirable. And maybe Goyle wasn't completely fixed himself... but even he knew that; he'd never even tried to deny it.

Uncomfortably considering the circumstances, Goyle shifted. He'd finally chosen to change the subject to one that had truly been pestering him for quite some time. He knew, nonetheless, that Draco wasn't about to enjoy partaking in such a topic. "So, uh... Draco, how've you been since..."

"Since what?" Draco spat, his eyes narrowing bitterly.

Though Goyle only shrugged, "you know what I'm talking about." Once again, he leaned in forward on his elbows, and gave his friend a look of being slightly anxious. "Pansy came back in after about a half an _hour_ of standing out on my driveway. And when she did, she wasn't herself. In fact, she was the most quiet I'd ever seen her."

"Ah," Draco smirked, "count that as a blessing."

Finally, Goyle's face faltered. Growing rather cross, he darted backwards, crossing his beefy hands across his chest, "I do not count that as a blessing, Draco. For your information, I've always enjoyed Pansy's company."

Momentarily, the two sat across from one another, looking undaunted back at forth. Over the course of the evening Malfoy hadn't touched most of his lunch; what was left on his salad plate looked admittedly unappealing and grotesque. Goyle, however, had an almost newly clean plate sitting before him. Perhaps his attitude had changed, but his appetite sure hadn't. He'd eaten quite an ample amount of food and looked actually physically tired with himself. Of course, now with Draco challenging him, he had mustered as much energy as he could back up inside him. Malfoy, on the other side, hadn't found himself getting any angrier. Despite himself, he felt enthusiastically bad for Goyle.

"Okay," he said, bowing his head submissively, "nothing happened, really. She ran out to try and get me to come back in. I must have insulted her somehow. But, I walked away in the middle of her sentence." Sure, lying to Goyle hadn't come as easily as it used to, but Draco wasn't prepared to recite the truth so simply. And, much to Draco's delight, Goyle seemed to buy it. He let his own posture drop and took to shaking his head, looking a bit suspicious; as if he'd only figured something of the sort would have happened.

Still shaking his head, Goyle said disapprovingly, "I should have known something like that would have happened." Then, soothingly, he added, "don't worry, we can fix it."

All to suddenly, Malfoy's mouth fell open in protest, "no! Uh... I mean, no, no... I don't think I could handle---"

"You'll be fine, Draco." Goyle sighed, cutting Draco off instantly. He pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket, flopped a wad of bills on the table and cocked his head towards the exit, as if more than ready to leave. Draco followed, wearily like a lost child. His hands were stuck still in his pocket, and he seemed to sink lower inside his clothes with every single step forward. "You can't keep fighting with your friends. The sooner you have all your relationships sorted out, the sooner you can start to lead a normal life."

Testily, Draco snorted, "normal? Ah, well, enlighten me, Goyle; what exactly is your idea of normal?"

Walking through the nice diner, Goyle ignored the stares of its inhabitants and made it to the front without further problem. He held the door open for Malfoy, who stood like a shadow at his side, and plunged himself out into the streets almost hurriedly. Though at this point even Draco seemed to notice that his entire atmosphere had changed. Something about him had slunk away and, sheepishly, he seemed to carry on down the streets of Hogsmeade just as shadily as Draco. Malfoy approached his friend timidly, fearful that he'd actually offended him for one reason or another. However, Goyle only seemed to hesitate for a moment longer before thrusting his shoulders up in a vulnerable shrug.

"Normal," he started slowly, "you know: moving out on your own, meeting a girl, falling in love, getting married."

Goyle's face was as red as a tomato. Surely Goyle couldn't have believed such a thing would be somewhere in the near future for Draco Malfoy. Not even Malfoy was in the mindset of considering the three. Wasn't he the one who just days ago was implying that Draco wasn't stable enough to lead such a life? However, after the silence had carried on long enough, Draco could see that Goyle truly wasn't kidding. He'd meant every word of it and even had hoped to achieve such a goal for himself. "T-That's normal?" Draco mused, just as meek.

"That's how life goes, isn't it?" Goyle shot back, staring down at his feet.

"For some people... eventually long down the line." Drawing his arms out in a big, wide space, Draco tried to get his message across successfully. Though Goyle wasn't paying him any attention. Defeated, Draco dropped his hands and somewhat fell into himself. He didn't focus on anything in particular, though his eyes wandered off into the distance, perhaps completely spaced out. "Goyle, I'm twenty-two years old. I'm not ready to get married... Goyle? Are you ready to do all of that?"

Finally, when Goyle looked up, there was a glossy desperation in his eyes. Above them the clouds swelled, twisting slightly. There was the unmistakable chlorine smell that signified the oncoming bit of rain. Hoarsely, Goyle said back to Draco, "I'm ready to move on. I _am_ ready to live a normal life. Aren't you?" Draco, however, only stood, stumped. "And, if you must know," Gregory Goyle added with a slight simper, "I've always wanted to get married." He finished off defensively, as if rather hurt that Draco would have assumed otherwise.

"Ah," Draco sighed, trying to be considerably polite, "and do you have anyone in mind?" Frankly, he didn't truly know why he'd asked, though he considered the question to be friendly enough and polite.

However, Goyle was rather quick to say, "no one." And Draco quite hastily stopped asking questions. "I mean," Goyle stumbled nervously, "I haven't... met her yet." Then, quite awkwardly, the two of them continued down the gravel road, both at a loss as to what to say next.

* * *

"Alright, question," Draco Malfoy said into the radio hours later as he sat up on his bed. Childlike, he was under the covers, suited in his pajamas. They were too short for him and, to make up for it, two floppy big socks had been wrapped around his slender, long feet. Never before had he felt so immature, however, the feeling did not particularly embarrass him. He was, after all, alone there in the darkness of his room, and, as it so seemed, such scenery had become rather common to him. "Question."

"I thought," said the female voice, who was whispering as well, though Draco was not sure as to why, "I was supposed to be the one asking you the questions."

Draco slumped down a little lower, positioning his feet underneath his light body and hunched forward, as if whispering into the hypothetical ear of the radio. "Just... humor me," he said, shaking his head, "honestly, are you always this difficult?"

A sway of murmurs came through the radio speakers, as if the woman herself found him to be the more difficult of the two. Though she managed to calm down and say in her defense clearly, "you have no idea who I am. I could be the most laid back person you'll ever met."

Muttering, Draco counteracted, "doubt it."

On the other end, Hermione huffed. Why was it that she couldn't be laid back? Not even Harry or Ron would bother with humoring her about it. And really, despite everything, Hermione did truly desire to be such a thing. Because truth be told, she wasn't as high strung as everyone seemed to think she was. She had some soothing qualities. However, as she sat and listened to a complete stranger tell her exactly what she didn't want to hear, she leaned back bitterly. It really was hard to accept what was more than likely the truth. "Get on with it," she permitted, bracing herself defensively.

"What do you consider to be normal?" He asked her slowly, as if unsure why he was doing so in the first place. He didn't even know the woman, and yet he felt so apt to ask her something so personal. And, diving in to the shallow, risky waters of giving one's self up so easily, he added out loud, "as in a normal life."

Reacting, Hermione slumped slightly forward. However, she didn't bother even considering the situation. "Normal, well that's surely generic. Ha, well I guess normal would be getting married, having children, buying a house and fiddling around in investments... that's probably the most normal life I can think of."

Malfoy bit his lip, saying only "ah."

The sky above his rather large house churned with darkly gray clouds. In the depths of his sinking chest, Malfoy considered such weather to represent what he saw to be a rather silly life. Churning clouds, graying skies. Where did it go from there? Eventually, there would be a downpour. His heart thundered behind his already worn out skeleton. He wasn't ready for a storm. Wasn't even ready for a slightly shower, the mere trickle of awful things to come. He'd already been through his life's biggest tragedy, hadn't he? After all, wasn't there supposed to be something of a rainbow in the end? But Draco Malfoy had no rainbow. In place of that, his channel only predicted more rain.

Hermione, rather optimistic on the other end of the Muggle toy radio, continued with a simple little shrug, "But, that's just a normal life. Who wants to lead a normal life?" Instantly, Draco's frown flipped. More and more he was beginning to like this woman. "Because normality isn't for everyone, you know. That's all the cliche stuff. What people don't realize is that people should make their own happiness. People don't need to get married, have kids... buy a house."

"So," Draco tested, "you're saying you don't want that?"

Finally, it was Hermione's turn to hesitate. She stuttered over herself for a moment and then brushed her hair back from her face. Honestly, she admitted, "no, well, I've always wanted to get married and have kids... and... eventually, buy a home."

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy huffed, "oh wow! Loads of help you are!"

Though despite this, Hermione interjected, "that's what most people _want_. They want to get married and to have children that they love. Falling in love, that's typically everyone's dream. You're saying you don't want to fall in love? You don't want to spend your life loving someone?"

At his end of the radio line, Malfoy leaned forward on his hands, resting his clammy face against his palms. Feeling a bit under the weather, he asked the woman back lazily, "what is love other than superficial love? Love does nothing for anyone. My parents love each other, but their lives still got worse."

"So," Hermione asked, somewhat tryingly herself, "you're saying you'd rather go through a miserable life alone than go through it with the help of someone else?"

"What's the use of doing that if you're only bringing them down along with you?"

Hermione scrunched up her nose. "It's not bringing them down with you. Nor is it taking them along for the ride. When you love someone, they should make you feel better about it all in the end." She expected an agreement, a sign of sincere understanding or, at least, a polite 'ah'. No such thing came. And as the silence grew longer, she have expected him to have left the toy radio all together. Sitting with her knees perched up to her chest, she chewed her bottom lip, anticipating something, if anything at all. Then, finally, when she had taken enough of the silence she asked almost too carefully, "don't you want to fall in love?"

Mulling this over, Malfoy hugged his knees tighter, much too childlike for a silly little question like that. However, Malfoy took what she'd asked seriously, almost too seriously. Perhaps he didn't want to fall in love. Maybe he wanted to carry out the rest of his entire life alone. But carry out what kind of life alone? A life alone in misery. And what was it that made him so opposed to marriage? Could it be because he hadn't seen the ideal marriage that the media had so pushed forward? Much like a typical human being, Draco wanted something old fashioned. A relationship based solely on love. Where they didn't need to buy a house because they could sleep on a damn mattress for all it mattered.

Did he want to fall in love? The short answer was yes, though he wanted to do it in his own way. Furthermore, he'd never found anyone that he knew for sure he'd wanted to spend the rest of his life with; had never connected with someone so deeply. "I wouldn't want," he said slowly, considerably, "to spoil some poor woman's life with the likes of me."

"And who's to say you'd spoil her life?" Hermione shot back, someone jolted.

"And who's to say I wouldn't?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Why was it that even over a silly radio this man had to be so difficult? She felt an invisible barrier that she was certain resided around him. "You know," she said, once again finding herself angry with the voice on the other end, "perhaps you would drive her crazy based on the sole fact that you're so damn difficult!" Then, leaning back for the second time, Hermione smiled gleefully to herself; it had felt rather liberating to call someone else 'difficult' rather than to hear herself being called as such. Though when the silence once again threatened the flow of their conversation, she felt the instant nausea of guilt creep up on her. "Sorry," she muttered sheepishly.

"Ah," Malfoy mused, feeling slight embarrassed once again. "Don't worry about it."

"So," Hermione started up again, slow at first, as if too cautious to begin in to swift conversation, "what sparked that question?" Curious as to the same thing, Malfoy raised an eyebrow. Why did he ask such a complete stranger such a question anyway? Not even he knew the real answer to that. However, he shifted forward, running a hand through his messy head of blond hair. And why not be a little honest with her? He had initially brought up the subject in the first place.

"A friend of mine thinks I should strive to have a normal life. So does my father, I think."

"Their idea of normal, or, your idea of normal?" Hermione suggested simply, "what about happy? A happy life? If you ask me, I'd much rather lead an unusual life filled with bliss than a life that's only a simple one."

"Me and happy don't exactly fit on the same level, darling," Draco drawled.

"Want to hear my philosophy?" Hermione asked, slightly too anxious and the little grunt at the other end gave Hermione the answer that she needed. "I think that happiness really is a mental thing. If you chose to be happy-- it's not so hard."

Malfoy stared at the radio as if it had just burst into flames. Chose happiness? Surely, she was deranged. Nothing could be so simple, especially not with he, Draco, so far down in the rut that he was in. Didn't she understand that Draco was something of the doomed sort? He was, after all, one of the inevitably damned. There was no redemption in his future, nothing particularly spectacular to look forward to.

To be nice, he replied, "alright, granted," though Hermione was all too clever. Taking her finger off of her speaker, she huffed, feeling helpless, and then slunk as low to the floor as she could.

"Alright," she responded after a long while, "can I ask you one more thing? A favor?"

"Sure."

Smiling, Hermione said teasingly, "Don't call me 'darling'."

Draco narrowed his eyes, stared down at the palms of his hands, somewhat taken a back. That had surely caught his attention. However, he caught on to her joke, realizing that she was only trying to lift his spirits, even if the attempt had been rather feeble. "Not a problem," he said with a flick of what may have been a smile, "won't happen again."

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**Vonne: **Please, review! I'd love to answer any and all questions you may have.


	11. A Bit of an Underestimation

**Vonne: **Thanks so much for all the responses. I appreciate all of them so very much! Thanks again!

**Doni: **Thanks for all the reviews you did in one day- HAH. It was a nice thing to find in my email inbox. Much appreciated!

**Dramione1996:** Hello again! I'm glad you like this fanfiction. I hope you like it as much as you liked my last one! I always appreciate hearing from you! (:

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**Shining Bright Eyes: **Exactly! HA, Lucius does love his son, but he probably would have a hard time expressing such. With is funny you even mentioned that because this chapter I wrote before even reading your review. You'll soon find out how much I really do agree with that statement.

**Thwarted Moody: **Of course I'll answer your questions (: HA. I like getting them to answer. Thanks for all your reviews, that's why I update so quickly. I have reason to from everyone that does so. It's quite motivating.

**Anavell: **Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. Thanks so much for all your reviews- love them! Definitely made me update this chapter faster!

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**Chapter Eleven:  
A Bit of an Underestimation **

Narcissa Malfoy grabbed the tie around her son's shoulders, looped it around quickly, and backed away to admire her work. "I think this is going to be good for you, Draco," she mused, examining everything as a whole. She pressed her lips together in a beautiful smile, truly attractive despite having aged, and put her hands up prayer-like to her chest. What she was unaware of was how much she'd been embarrassing her son, who stood limp and red faced across from her. With his blond hair slicked back and his shoes over polished, he tired to pretend he was not standing in the square waiting room. However, his parents had insisted: therapy. He should have suspected that after a while he'd have had to of given in.

Red velvet was fairly the overlying theme of the entire place and each chair looked uncomfortable, as if it had never truly been broken in. Lucius Malfoy appeared to be the first ever to try one out, though his interest wasn't in how comfortable it was. He was perched forward, his left hand resting on his knee, and he stared at Draco with a slightly sorrowful look. But it was Draco who kept himself rooted to not saying a word and feeling quite like a twenty-two year old child, he allowed his father to watch as his mother licked her fingers and smoothed back the last of her son's stray hair. "Your mother's right, Draco," Lucius said finally, when the silence had grown rather excruciating, "this will be quite good for you."

But because Draco couldn't quite think of a satisfactory lie he only stood there, zombie-like and stone faced. How did he get here in the first place? He wasn't even quite sure himself, though he vaguely remembered something involving the night before. He'd been admittedly rather tipsy when his father strode in, just about catching him in the middle of fiddling with the radio. Luckily, he'd stuffed it under his pillows, transferred himself to an appropriate stand point, and watched the blurry vision of his father tell him that his mother and he had been talking. And everything had sunk from there-- but didn't it always when someone mentioned a talk? Even as drunk as he had been, he could tell something was wrong. But he couldn't prepare himself for the therapy aspect of it all. And the moment his father had said so, all Draco could hear was the pounding of his own ear drums. In a daze he'd agreed, though he didn't truly have much of a choice.

However, luck seemed to grace him ever so slightly as of currently; the waiting room was completely empty besides the Malfoys, who stood slightly uneasily in the red room. "Oh, Draco," his mother said, taking a step back, "you look so handsome." Blinking, Draco found that it was time to smile, and he did so mechanically; because he considered it the socially acceptable thing to do. Was his mother impervious to the dark bags under his eyes? The undeniable stench of liquor on his tainted breath? Perhaps so, but Draco felt a ping of suspicion that his father wasn't completely unaware of it all.

Lucius did not let on if he did know, nonetheless. His fingers crawled around the top of his walking stick nervously and he only stared at his son, watching him rather than simply looking. "Just tell the therapist exactly what's on your mind, alright? In and out, just a try, hm?" Narcissa's attempt at trying to coax her son into relaxation was going rather ignored despite Draco's blank visage. "It's not a permanent thing... just dip your feet in the idea." Desperation swam slightly behind her dazzling irises. "You're going to do brilliantly, sweetheart."

"Narcissa," Lucius said, finally giving what looked like a smile that was forced of out both annoyance and nerves, "don't crowd our son. Of course he's going to do splendidly." He talked more at Draco, keeping his eyes firmly locked back into his. Something flickered behind his eyes and instantly Draco's own vanity told him that maybe his father was proud that he had even agreed to go in the first place. Heated and sheepish, Malfoy wished for a way out, something to surely save him from the likes of this very moment. He fumbled with his hands in his pockets, wishing he'd brought the radio along with him. It had turned into something of a safety blanket, if he could ever thought he'd needed such a thing. Having left it under the comfort of his bed pillow, he felt at even more of a bitter loss. But as awkward as the situation seemed to be, it was the opening door behind him proved to be just the savior Draco needed.

Draco spun around, though his parents' eyes only moved forward to meet the new shadow that entered the room. "Draco Malfoy?" said the new voice, which belonged to an old woman, who was tall despite her peaked age. She took in the sight of the three looming blonds, smiled slightly, and extended her hand out behind her, already eager to start. "Ah, very nice to meet you," she continued and Draco wondered if that was a lie, "your parents have told me so much about you."

Ah, of course they had. A new swell of heat overtook his face. Temples throbbing, he begun to ache with the drum of a nauseatingly inducing headache. But he wasted no time; nodding to his parents, he made his way towards the woman and held his havering breath as he entered her office. She shut the door gently and walked to her seat with a timid expression that was only just put on for the moment. Once again gesturing with her thin arms, she gracefully directed Malfoy to his seat. "I have to admit," Draco said quietly, "I'm not really sure what to tell you." He didn't offer her a polite smile, but only managed a sorrowfully lost grimace, "I've never done this before."

"Just tell me a bit about yourself," she said, taking her own seat, "I'd like to hear something about the type of person you consider yourself to be." Malfoy's shoulders sunk. How bleak could she be? Feeling hopeless about the situation, he'd only wished she'd offered him something much broader to start out with.

Stammering, Draco provided her with only a shrug, "I... c-couldn't tell you that even if I tried."

Nodding, she took several notes, but kept her focus only on her patient. The clipboard floating next to her made Draco a bit nervous and he was careful not to make any sudden moves. "Ah, well, if you don't mind, I'd like to do a bit of hypnosis. Do you think you'd be alright with that?"

Draco reeved back, blinking. That had been rather unexpected and instantly a cold chill went up his hunched spine. Perhaps he had underestimated this therapy session altogether. Here he's been thinking he'd simply have to identify what a couple sheets of blotched ink looked like to him. With a newly uneasy feeling in the pit of his already churning stomach, he gave the woman's office one quick look over. The name tag on her desk read 'Elaine Galer' and everything was neat and in place. Ms. Galer's white hair looked perfect on her tiny head and it was no wonder his parents had picked her out from the pool of therapists to choose from; neat and tidy, she looked as if she could seemingly be trusted.

But Draco could always see through 'seemingly'. He didn't think he was at risk of anything other than exposure, and the thought of spilling his guts frankly gave him the chills. But then what was he to do? Return back to his hopeful mother and tell her that he'd refused to do what Galer had recommended? Surely he couldn't do such a thing; besides, he was sure his father wouldn't approve of such an idea either. As if testing it out, Draco asked hoarsely, "hypnotism? You want to mess with my head?"

"Don't think of me messing with anything, Draco," Ms. Galer replied cooly, "think of it like taking the necessary steps forward. Do you _want_ to get better?"

Instantly, Malfoy turned ghostly white. Did he want to get better? What sort of question was that? "Yes," he admitted longingly, and Galer smiled. And that much was true. Draco Malfoy was not useful while miserable. Even Malfor managed to realize that about himself. He needed back the same motivation, the same determination. More than anything he longed to see the meaning behind life and living again. He only saw life as taking the same steps forward, the same motions over and over and over again. And that scared him more than anything.

The hovering clipboard floated from the air, resting itself on the table. Then the quill went down along with it and at its sinking shadow, Galer allowed herself to rise up. She took her long wand in her hands and strode over to Malfoy, who watched her with horrified anticipation. "Alright, that's good," she said nodding, "that tells me a lot about you already. Now, just lay back and shut your eyes." Pausing, Malfoy watched the room as the curtains swung shut. Then, because there was nothing else he could think of doing, he laid back on the couch, shifting slightly. "Now just shut your eyes, and relax." Obligingly, he did so. But the raising and falling of his chest signified that he wasn't exactly relaxing. "Relax," she said again, soothing and then instantly, everything went black.

But the closing curtain that shut behind Draco's eyes proved only temporary. Everything begun to rush into view, swiftly rearranging itself from the previous total chaos. He could see the room again, though only somewhat, and everything was hazy and blurred and fuzzy. It was as if he had been only intoxicated and the headache was still undoubtedly present in his foggy mind. He could feel the aches and chills of having drunk too much, but the prickling pins and needles sensation in his body made it utterly impossible to move. He felt like jelly, a complete puddle on the surface of the woman's otherwise rock hard couch. He watched her shadow lean back, cross her legs underneath her long skirt, and heard her voice say blurred, "alright, Mr. Malfoy, how do you feel?"

"Nonexistent," he heard his voice say, but it was with a sloppy tone, slurred and unnecessarily elongated as if he'd been woken up from a deep sleep.

Casually, Galer responded, "that's perfectly normal. It just means that you're relaxed. Now I'm going to ask you a couple of questions, Mr. Malfoy." Something new throbbed through his entire body; a feeling of lightness and simplicity. He'd never been as relaxed. What had she done to him? He'd seen her only just lift her wand and, now feeling slightly goofy, he felt a dopey smile cross his face and a rush of confusion. He couldn't think about lying now; no such ability even seemed possible to him at the moment. His grin faded and Galer chuckled to herself before continuing. "Now, would you like to explain to me the type of person you think you are?"

The answer practically escaped from his mouth. Sloppily, he heard himself say, "I'm not a good person."

"And what makes you say that? Other than what you've done in your past. What makes you think so badly of yourself now?"

He felt himself raise his jelly arms, fiddle with the collar of his nice shirt. Nervously, his hand slid up to his forehead, sweaty and running with perspiration. From there, it flopped off of his head, once again loose and lifeless. "I've done nothing to make up for everything I've done and... and... I can't forget the past," he said, sounding whiney and boyish, "the past doesn't go away just like that..."

"So, what steps are you taking to better yourself? Are you doing such a thing?"

"... Seeing old mates," he moaned, "contemplating m-my future."

"Ah," Galer said, with a hint of what seemed like hope, "that's not a bad thing, Draco. Everyone thinks about their future. Where do you see yourself in the future?"

A redness overtook Draco's face. He crunched forward, turning on his side and practically hugging himself. "Six feet under," he replied with a miserable laugh. But he felt nothing close to happiness. He felt the numbing trickle of spit fall from the side of his mouth and his eyes slightly glaze over with tears. He wasn't quite sure what was making him so emotional, though he was no longer feeling uplifted as previously before. Instead, he felt a sinking feeling that taunted his insides, made him almost physically sick with despair.

Galer's face sunk. A morose and sad expression had become obvious even from Draco's view of her fuzzy face. She removed the glasses from the bridge of her nose, leaned forward and when she spoke, her voice sounded strained and sad, ".... and what makes you say that?" she repeated, solemnly.

"Because I know it. I'll... I'll either drink myself to death or be killed or..."

"Mr. Malfoy, listen to me," Galer said, concerned. She leaned further off of her chair, touching Draco's shoulder, though he instantly shrug away from her hand, curling up tighter within himself. "Draco, you have every reason in the world to live. Alright... you've got all the time in the world to get better. Okay? You've got a long time to work on improving your life-- on making it how you want it to be truly? Do you understand me?" But how could he possibly understand her? In his current state, he could hardly understand the way he'd gone from feeling so relaxed to so utterly devastated. His lack of an answer sent Ms. Galer reeling back and, mulling the situation over a bit, she extracted her wand from her lap, rose it, and Draco's eyes opened with a little flutter. After a moment of strange silence, she said soothingly, "that'll be all for today, Mr. Malfoy. If you could... send your parents in after you."

And, leaving without another word, Malfoy considered his current complexion; tears streaming down his face, lips wet, though his throat was undoubtedly dry. In even more of a daze than he had been the entire evening, he exited the office sheepishly and strode into the waiting room looking at the soles of his shoes, rather than at the faces of his parents. He didn't say a word, though the looming shadow of Galer back at the door made his parents rise up instantly, in unison as if purposefully. He didn't bother to notice as his father gave him an inquisitive look before disappearing behind the therapist's door altogether.

Furthermore, Lucius Malfoy wasn't prepared to go into the therapist's office in the first place. He squinted at the overly darkened room and sat there loosely as his wife slipped her tiny hand into his. It wasn't really fair making her suffer about her son all this much. She had tried too hard to make everything right again. But it had been five whole years... and Lucius had gotten over it-- or at least had appeared to of have. Why was Draco, such a bright and intelligent boy, so hard to reach? Surely, he'd have enough self confidence to support such a goal. However, Lucius Malfoy's denial truly did nothing for him. Standing stick-like and straight, he braced himself for the worst, despite deciding to put on a face as if he'd expected nothing at all.

"What's seems to be the problem, Ms. Galer?" Narcissa asked lifelessly. She had been slightly shaking, however had managed to keep her infamous composure for quite a surprisingly long while. With the door behind them closed, both the Malfoy's watched the older woman approach her desk, raise her wand once again, and whip each curtain open once again, letting in the bright sun at once. "Is something wrong with Draco?"

Analyzing Mrs. Malfoy's question, Ms. Galer chewed slightly on her bottom lip, a habit she had once tried to break. However, in situations like this, she was never too good on delivering bad news. "Ms. Malfoy, I'm afraid to say that I believe your son is severely depressed."

Lucius winced slightly, "depressed?" he repeated, as if exceedingly doubtful, "that's highly unlikely." The silence seemed to stir him a bit, and with an assertive step forward, he practically declared, "he may be a little... out of it... but I hardly consider---"

"Mr. Malfoy, I would indeed consider your son to be out of touch, yes," nodding, Ms. Galer shifted her weight, stood in the light of the sinking sun.

Narcissa strode forward, surpassing the stand point of her husband, "what exactly did Draco say to you, Ms. Galer?" There was a strong fit of pity behind her otherwise cruel eyes, that signified that she perhaps wasn't as horrible as she was so widely speculated to be. "Please." She no longer looked as put together and radiant as she'd looked only moments ago. It was undeniable that the dark bags had surely begun to creep under her shaking eyes. Her hands rose to her chest as if in a slight prayer, and her face had drained of any significant color she'd had left in it.

However, she would not be happy with the response. "Unfortunately," Ms. Galer said slowly, "there is such thing as patient confidentiality. Though I can tell you that I'm quite sure your son is unhappy... perhaps suicidal."

"Suicidal," Lucius repeated, as if only just trying out the sound of it. Then, instantly unsatisfied, he shook his head back and forth swiftly, "no. Impossible."

Nonetheless, Narcissa asked desperately, "what can we do for him? How can we help him?" There were tears glowing behind her eyes now and she looked more aged than ever. Wrinkles lining the top of her forehead were so obvious that it was almost unbearable. On the outer lining her her cheeks, further lines defined her otherwise lovely face.

"I'd suggest medication..." Galer suggested, but Lucius Malfoy's sunken face clearly put her advise to rest.

"No," he stated, once again shaking his head, "no medication."

Galer froze, stiff beyond belief. She had heard everything about the Malfoys, but she never truly realized how much they cared for their son. Sure, they'd made the wrong choices, but they'd made them as a family. And wasn't that, after all, the real reason why'd they escaped jail time in the first place? "Well," she said, compassionately, "you've heard my advice... if all else, just... keep an eye on him."

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"Come on, Draco," Lucius Malfoy said once he'd protruded from the therapist's office in front of his wife, who lingered slightly in the back. "We're going home."

Malfoy, seated on the chair that turned out to be as uncomfortable as he'd expected, looked up from what could have only been described as an even deeper daze than before. His father's stature told him that their goal towards leaving the building was something that Lucius wanted to get done as soon as possible. From the window just at his father's back, Malfoy could see that the sky was finally starting to contemplate a storm. As the gray clouds churned in circles lively, a tiny drop of sprinkles fell from the air miserably. How long had he been sitting there? He hadn't even noticed that rain was in question for the day. Then, blinking himself back to reality, he allowed his gaze to meet his father's determined one.

Croakily, he asked, "so soon?" And his father only just nodded, telling him swiftly to get his coat; it was cold out. Lucius' eyes never met with his sons, however, and he seemed to only focus at the looming large doorway that stood only feet in front of him. So, obligingly, Draco rose to his feet, feeling a slight numbness advance upon them. He gathered his dark pea coat, an overused and slightly fading jacket, wrapped it once again around himself, and stood still; a statue waiting for approval to move.

"It was a pleasure meeting you," Ms. Galer said from the doorframe, staring at him as if he'd already been a loss. But Draco didn't answer; his eyes watched his father make for the door stiffly, without bothering to look back. Narcissa followed along after him, stopping at her son's side to brush along a new stray hair from disgracing his pale forehead. "Perhaps I'll see you again sometime in the future," she suggested, directing the question at his parents, of course. Though she didn't receive any answer besides a nod of departure from Narcissa and, defeated, she retreated backwards, deeper into her small little office.

A sinking feeling tortured Draco's insides. Watching his mother straighten out the collar of his coat, he allowed her to stride ahead of him, leaving him standing by the hard seat with a dumbfounded expression. "Goodbye, Draco Malfoy," Ms. Galer said once again, before shutting the door and vanishing form sight completely. Draco turned his throbbing head; his father had left the room and was no where in sight, though Narcissa remained still at the side of the doorframe, a forced smile upon her slender face.

She cleared her throat as if talking were something difficult for her, "come on, Draco, we don't want to get too far behind your father." Then, thrusting out her hand, she waited for her son to come towards her. And he did with a stagger, feeling more confused and lost than he had in a long while. What he didn't do, however, was bother to take her hand. Instead he floated by her delicately, still staring ahead of himself at nothing really in particular.

And as the group of three descended down the short stairs back into the streets of the almost deserted village, Draco watch his mother once again surpass him. Her lips moved as she turned to her husband, but he couldn't quite make out what it was that she was saying to him. So he remained in the back, watching the building sink back behind him. Despite himself, he was wondering whether or not the voice on the other end of the radio was anywhere near it and, furthermore, he prayed desperately for it.

Perhaps truly he'd underestimated the entire day altogether.

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**Vonne: **REVIEW! (:


	12. Draco Enlightened

**Vonne:** This is a long chapter so I'm just going to get straight to it! Check to see if I've answered any of your questions below! Thanks everyone!

**Anavell: **Alright, I definitely heard what you asked for. Hopefully you'll like the bit at the end. I added that after reading your review. :) So, really, thank you for the suggestion.

**Amandakai: **Thank you so much for your review. I'm so glad you liked the last chapter as much to believe it. I have no children yet, but I can't even imagine what a horrible experience it would be to hear one of your children suggest that they would want to end their lives. Well, I hope you enjoy this chapter, too. (:

**Shining Bright Eyes: **Thank you so much! I am so glad you like the way I've planned everything out writing-wise because I am ALWAYS trying to better myself with my writing. You have no idea how happy I was to hear that you really liked it. Thank you, that made my day-- and, believe it or not, inspired me to write an extremely long chapter this time around. Thanks!

**Imperial Dragon: **Perhaps he will! :)

**Jade2099: **I am so sorry to hear that! I've never known anyone in my close family to be suicidal, though I've known many people that have battled depression and it truly is such a hard thing to go through- even as a witness. I sincerely hope your boyfriend gets better and learns to love life as he used to. All I can say to you is that you being by his side is truly admirable and I'm sure he loves you more than you know. Anyway, on a much lighter note, I'm so glad that you liked reading this! I appreciate your personal review more than you know!

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**Chapter Twelve:  
Draco Enlightened**

"I took your advice the other day," Draco said above the rushing wind that now filled the usually quiet depths of his room. He was lying on his back, flat on top of his toy radio, tossing a small ball up into the air. With his free arm, he gripped his fingers around the tiny width of it and then sent it hurdling back up into the air. Just before it hit the ceiling, the tiny ball fell rapidly back to his open palm with a rushed whoosh. Truth be told, Draco had only brought up the subject to further annoy Goyle; to continue to prove him wrong. It wasn't exactly the kinde tst thing to do, but Draco had currently lost all hope when it came to his future revelation of treating his friends better.

Goyle lifted his head and his brow in unison, a smile gracing his fat face. "You did?" he asked, hopeful with a lingering tone of interest, "and how did it go?"

Seizing the chance to knock down all the glee from his best friend's posture, Draco shook his head, rested the ball in the cradle of his fingers and said whole-heartedly, "awful." At once, Goyle's body slunk low. The smile completely gone from his face, he looked absolutely dumbstruck. His mouth, which had dropped ever so slightly, seemed to stammer with a loss for words. "Therapy," Draco admitted before Goyle could ask which of his advice Draco had bothered to take, "and it was probably the most non therapeutic experience of my entire life. Thanks."

A slight huff came from Goyle's throat and he flopped back down, defeated. However, he proceeded to ask in a haze, "and how was it that awful?"

"Hypnotism, Goyle," Draco said, perching up and pointing a boney finger in the direction of his deflated friend, "I don't even know what happened to me, but whatever the therapist told my parents sure freaked them out." Goyle's face crunched. Once again he sighed briefly, pressed his puffy hands over his massive skull. "Thanks to you." Turn, hoping off of his bed's mattress, Draco advanced on Goyle, looking only half angry, but more over just venting. "If you'd just kept your mouth shut, my parents would have never taken me to therapy in the first place."

Eyes still pressed shut, Goyle replied tiredly, "One: I never spoke to your parents about therapy or even your problem in general. Two: I highly doubt that my suggestion sparked any therapist's idea of _hypnotism._" At last there was a much needed silence between the two of them. The sprinkling rain that sounded out outside had been going on ever since the day before and there seemed to be no hope of sunshine anytime soon. In the absence of noise, Goyle found that he quite liked Draco's frustrated silence. Even the redness that overtook his face slightly amused him. And while he was still slightly agitated by his friend, he remained willing to say nothing else if he had to risk hearing Draco speak one more unreasonable word.

However, the slight stir from Draco's spot made Goyle's face fall even lower. "You're not even interested?" Draco asked meekly, as if regretting he'd told Goyle about being hypnotized in the first place. "I told the girl on the radio last night and she was pretty fascinated by the whole thing."

"Oh," Goyle said, unamused, "you told the girl on the radio, huh? That's perfectly healthy. I think you should do shit like that more often, Draco. It's certainly the _best _way to fix you up right." Draco's blank stare melted into a solemn grimace. His shoulders fell slightly and he stuffed the radio back under his pillow with full force, as if angry at both Goyle and the toy in general. "I've told you once and I'll tell you again- Draco, you sound as crazy as everyone seems to think you are. Stop talking about Muggle electronics and get focused. That's how you progress."

Malfoy snorted breathlessly, "progress," he repeated in satire, "you know, the more you say that, the more I think our ideas of such a thing are completely different."

Then a clap came from behind him and Draco whirled around, fresh from behind cut off. Hands just separating from the palms of the other, Goyle looked just as ready to go as Draco had so recently known him to be. "Alright," he said, ignoring Draco's latest comment, "get up. Get up, put your damn coat on."

Draco's eyes shifted left and right, rather stumped. When he did speak up, however, his tone reeked of bitter suspicion. "Go where?" he said, more of a statement rather than a question.

"I have a dinner reservation planned." Goyle said, instantly growing a bit anxious. "At a nice place that I'm sure you'll like." And before Draco could ask, he added sleepily, "and yes, they serve alcohol." Draco's instantly brightened face caused Goyle's eyes to roll rather enthusiastically. He proceeded to lift Draco's coat off of the surface of his bed and thrust it harshly in Draco's direction. Upon catching it, Draco stumbled back slightly, an utterly confused expression plastered on his pale face. Malfoy looked over the jacket he'd been handed, noting that it was a completely different one than the normal pea coat he'd been so privy to wear as of recently, and wondered if Goyle had meant for him to take it as a hint.

"Right then, are you paying?" Draco asked, more of a joke rather than a serious statement. However, he waited for Goyle to answer as he strode to the mirror on his dresser and pulled the new coat over his shoulders. It was a lighter gray and it at a quarter length slightly above his knees, slightly a brighter choice than Draco was used to. Though, he was really focusing on the reflection of Goyle in the mirror, who seemed to smile once again, despite Draco's mooching request.

He shrugged anxiously, finding himself rather excited that Draco was, himself, willing. "Sure," he said toothily, "I'd be happy to let my money go towards a good cause."

Malfoy rummaged through his drawer, extracted his only scarf that wasn't marked with any Slytherin symbols, and wrapped it around his neck greedily. Then, for good measure, he retreated back to his bed and stuffed the radio back into his new coat pocket. "A good cause?" he asked once again, before admitting that he'd only been joking. Though his hands still searched through his top drawer, finally emerging from it a newsboy cap which he pulled down rather too low on his head. Finally, the silence seemed to linger relentlessly on him. He cocked an eyebrow up and let his eyes burn into the reflection of his newly speechless friend. "Goyle?"

Goyle coughed nervously, smoothing his own coat down and turning away from the mirror. Draco spun around at once, jaw squared and determined. He didn't hesitate; in fact, he brought himself forward, carried by his long and slender legs, and stood only feet away from Goyle's body. "Well, you did hear me tell you I'd like to fix things."

"What things?" Draco muttered, a new bit of anxiety taking over his half hidden face, "Goyle... what _things?"_

Hesitation seemed to follow Goyle as he took to approaching Draco from behind and pushing him forward eagerly. "Well," he said as he remained safe back there, "that's not important now." Malfoy huffed, struggling to spin around, but only managed to inch himself forward out the door in the process. "But, come on, Draco, let's not worry ourselves with that unimportant stuff now." He stammered, not even quite believing he was about to coax Malfoy with such a thing. However, he said it briskly, as if there was no other choice, "you know what we should focus on?"

Malfoy licked his lips, a dazzled haze taking over his globe-like pupils. With a smile, he looked eagerly over his slender shoulder, eyes just barely shining out from under the shadow of his hat. "Hard liquor?" he guessed.

And Goyle, satisfied with his deception, nodded, finding it more easy to lie than he'd ever suspected him to do as of recently. Furthermore, the old feeling of doing so felt more or less justified. "Exactly!" he beamed, practically shoving Draco out the front door of his large Manor. "Now let's order up."

* * *

Even though only slightly buzzed, Goyle was certain he'd allowed Draco Malfoy enough liquor to keep him rooted, thus keeping his plan more alive than he'd expected. He had been doing quite a good job at monitoring his friend, too, every so often checking the door to see if his expected visitor had entered the place. Draco hadn't even bothered to notice Goyle's wandering eyes; he talked only of hypnotism, therapy, and that damned radio. And Malfoy was in an admittedly good mood, too; with the lighting so dim that it was almost too hard to make out faces, he seemed satisfied with his persisting anonymity.

The place wasn't too bad, either, with all things considered. Goyle had found the two of them a nice booth, seated away from the majority of the other diners. And Goyle had only just sipped at his beer, which tasted awful, though ever since Goyle had limited his alcohol intake he hadn't really liked the drink in the first place. However, such a thing was necessary; appeasing Draco was key and, now, he needed to do so more than ever.

"And while I was under," Draco started again, not exactly out of it, but surely well on his way of getting there, "I was cold and hot and happy and sad... all at once." Goyle nodded, feigning interest. There was really only so much of this that he could take. Though, for the time being, he brought the cold beer to his lips, pretended to down it, and nodded again, repeating the same motions only to keep Draco's interest alive. "And when my parents got out of that office, I can't even tell you what was going on, Goyle. My father, he was absolutely unreadable."

"Ah," Goyle mused, once again looking over his shoulder towards the doorway.

But Draco was talking nonstop. "But... I don't even remember what I told her. I just remember feeling... feeling--" he was instantly cut off mid-sentence. His eyes drifted upward, draining completely of all interest inside of him. He seemed to lock gazes with someone across the hall of the restaurant and his eyes narrowed as he paused, just about to lift the beer glass to his face again. "Goyle..." he stammered slowly once he was certain he was truly seeing what he thought he was seeing, "you didn't."

Goyle spun around and there she was. Walking towards them with one long leg over the other, Pansy practically sparkled in the ravishing dim light that filled the entire place. Her face was etched with a smile and her pretty teeth shined along with it. She was, in her own way, bundled up but certainly not out of shame; whisking her hood off from around her dazzling face, she let her short brunette hair flop lively around her face she gave each of the staring men a gracious smile before heading onward in the direction of both Goyle and Draco.

Through gritted teeth that only formed a false beam, "stand up," Goyle instructed, and, hovering, Draco did so managing only to knock into the side of the table upon his rising. "Say 'hello'," he suggested again, but Draco could only stare, sending a bitter kick into Goyle's shin underneath their dining table surface. Ruffled, Goyle kicked him back, equally frustrated, and Draco stumbled backward slightly, his hair falling rather sloppily out of place just as Pansy approached the table.

She settled beautifully, resting her palms down on the top of it eagerly. "Well, hello, boys," she said, though her eyes remained focused on Malfoy in particular. She had regained her seductive tone that Draco had so recently heard absent from her days before. Furthermore, she seemed to have forgotten that days events completely, and she flopped down next to Goyle, a fitting spot that suited her desires to get a complete view of Draco's face entirely. Next, both Goyle and Draco staggered into their opposite sides of the booth, locking eyes with one another with fierce intensity.

One thing ran through Draco Malfoy's head and that was how he could leap across the counter top and strangle Goyle to death. And Goyle seemed to get the picture; composing himself proudly, he smirked at Draco with a victorious expression of pride. Nonetheless, Pansy's own smooth voice forced his eyes to flicker away from Goyle, landing on her with a look of being slightly still surprised at her presence. "Draco," she grinned compassionately, "first and foremost, I wanted to thank you for inviting me here."

"Ah," was the only sound that Draco emitted as a response, once again hypothetically murdering Goyle over and over. However, Goyle only seemed to be enjoying Draco's torment and he leaned forward, resting his chin in the palms of his hands.

"Of course," he beamed, "Draco said he was sorry for how things went down the other night... that he wanted to work everything out." Then, leaning back, he folded his hands across his chest and gave his friend a look that said nothing but 'so there '. If Draco wasn't going to try and improve his life on his own, Goyle would force such an action out of him.

Pansy's smile only broadened and there was a twinkle behind her eye that Draco didn't quite admire. With Goyle utterly unaware of what had really happened several nights ago, there was no way in hell that Draco could make this work. So, useless, he sat at his side of the booth stiff, his hands fumbling in his lap. Pansy started up again, her smile still obvious as she spoke with relaxing breaths, "how have you been?" she asked, far more interested than she should have been.

But Draco shook his head, "I've... I've been..." his eyes found the barely full beer bottle at the table and the symbolic light bulb lit up in his head, "intoxicated," he said with false slur, "and... currently hypnotized. That's what they do to the hopeless nowadays, I guess." With a shrug, it was his turn to spin around to Goyle, leaning forward on his booth. He pressed his pointed chin into the palms of his hands and smiled so aggressively that Goyle's own grin falted away on impact. "Guess I'm just hopeless."

"Oh, Draco, don't be so silly," Pansy laughed, taking his jokes for what they were. Draco's smile once again vanished, thus returning Goyle's. "From what I hear you took therapy on your own. And that's a great thing, Draco. Therapy can be a very effective way towards bettering yourself. Sooner or later you'll lead a normal life, too." And there it was again-- that word. 'normal'. With every core of his being, Draco loathed it strongly. Despising Goyle more than ever at the moment, Malfoy leaned back, feeling victory quickly drain from his entire body. "Anyway, I'd like to talk to you about something, Draco."

Goyle's focus suddenly broke away from Malfoy. His entire torso dropped and he turned towards Pansy, as if she had entirely deviated from his plan completely. His puffy face drained of all color, though Pansy hadn't seemed to take any notice to his discomfort that was so bluntly obvious. Draco, however, felt a slight sting of guilt for his friend, and he only watched as a spectator, finding himself unable to interject. Goyle had, after all, called Pansy to the diner in the first place; it was, technically, his fault. "Goyle, if you don't mind..."

"Erm..." Goyle stammered, bringing himself up from his seat with newly unanticipated nerves, "sure, I suppose." And with that he was gone, looking even more morose than Draco thought he could take seeing him. He watched Goyle walk away slowly and take a seat in solitude at the bar, leaning his head in his hands grimly. Finally he leaned back to the side, moving back to the middle of the booth with a newfound awkward notion.

Pansy shifted, too, this time deflating as well. Her ability of captivating men seemed to vanish along with her confidence. Shiftily, her eyes swooped back and forth and then, she pushed her own body forward, seemingly the trend of the night. "Draco," she said, shaking her head, "what happened between us the other day?"

Malfoy's face reddened with heat. An overwhelming headache shot through him and he reached forward and grabbed the bottle of Goyle's left over beer. "I dunno," he mumbled, embarrassed, preferring to rather not talk about the night at all.

However, Pansy wouldn't have such ignorance. She fiddled with her emerald purse on her lap, her necklace pendant bobbing up slightly as her chest rose and fell with each nervous swallow. "Well, I have a theory," she suggested, her face slightly heating up herself. Draco felt the jitters creep up on him unwillingly. He truly did not want to have this conversation. He had never seen Pansy so upset before and the very notion of it made him shaky. This was his fault. He should have never agreed to Goyle's antics in the first place and, more importantly, he should have told Pansy 'no' when he really had the chance. But being lonely had warped his common sense; he'd only longed for such a feeling of being loved by someone else, even if the person was Pansy, who continued with shaky emotion, "want to hear my theory?"

Draco swallowed on his own. "Sure," he said supportively, though he looked only in the reflection of Goyle's beer bottle, the mirror image of his face morphing with the quivering vision of himself in the liquid.

"I think that you need me, Draco. You may not think you do, but I think that you _do_ need me." As she said this, she pointed to her chest, longing taking over her entire physical stare. Her voice was broken and chilling, making Draco want to leave the table completely all at once. She was wrong, of course. Draco didn't need Pansy, didn't love Pansy. But the overwhelming view of her spilling herself out to him kept him rooted there, feeling guilty and sheepish and one hundred percent at fault.

Shaking his head back at her, Draco said with a hoarse croak, "no, Pansy, stop. Please... you don't like me. You only think you like me, remember. I--"

"I've always liked you, Draco." Pansy said, looking slightly frustrated. She slammed her hand down on the top of the table and then relaxed herself, once again regaining her picture perfect composure. "Why you can't come to terms with that is... is beyond me."

"Like and love are two totally different things," Malfoy stated, still staring at nothing but his lap; he couldn't quite bring himself to look at Pansy directly, anyways.

Pansy huffed, laughing out of sheer frustration and nerves. "Love," she repeated, nodding, "is that what you want, Draco? Love? Okay," she continued nodding, clapping her hands together slightly as if she'd made the final conclusion for him already, "look no further." There was a simple sigh from Pansy's space at the other side of the dinner booth. She looked shaky and uneasy, but the undeniable determination throbbed restlessly through her. Her sparkling pupils watched Draco as he sat there stilly like an awkward child, unsure as of when to speak next. "We could have a really happy life, you know," she said, hurt but defensively at the same time, "I just came here to tell you that."

Despite everything, she was scolding him with her comments, watching him as her gaze almost forced him to answer her. Though when his silence persisted, she once again leaned forward, however with a thickening thrust, and gripped the edge of the table top with her delicate fingers. "What is it, Draco," she asked, agitated with a flushing face, "that you loathe so much about me?"

"Pansy," Draco started again, sighing strangely, "I don't hate you. You know I don't hate you."

"Ha!" Pansy snorted, flopping back. She crossed her hands across her chest, bitting her bottom lip as if to prevent herself from crying. "Don't make me laugh, Draco Malfoy. The bottom line is this: I love you. I've always loved you. Why can't you just accept that?"

"Pansy," Draco choked out, finally looking up from his lap, "I'm sorry."

Pansy's head bobbed up and down in what seemed like a never ending nod. Her eyes glazed over with tears, though only one of them fell down from her face. Her mascara beginning to smear, Draco could vaguely make out the tiny trace of oncoming wrinkles underneath her eyes. With that, she loosened her grip from around the table and pulled herself to her feet. Standing quivering at the end of the dinner table, she dug out a thin wad of dollar bills from her dazzling little clutch purse and flung it down on the surface. The green stack flung towards Draco, spinning rapidly, until it finally stopped right in front of him. "Don't worry about it," she spat bitterly, "I've got to bill. Buy yourself as much liquor as you want."

Then, briskly, she made her way away from Draco's table, swiftly past Goyle, who'd looked up shocked at her exit, and once again fled out the front door of Draco Malfoy's miserable life. Goyle scratched his head timidly, turned around with a swift confusion, and met glances with Malfoy, who had only just looked up from the wad of bills with a moping frown. Having been sitting at his barstool alone for the past several minutes, Goyle lifted his glass and made his way back over to the booth, a pitiful look in his eyes. "What is it that tells me that you've just made things one hundred times worse?"

Malfoy shrugged, a chill washing over his already aching body, "would seem to be a habit of mine now wouldn't it, Goyle?" he mused, thoughtlessly.

"Merlin, Draco," Goyle cried in a raspy and broken voice, "do you have no regard for your friend's feelings? I mean, at all?"

Looking back down at the cash in front of him, Malfoy sensed a feeling of disillusionment creeping over him. On a normal day, he would have grabbed the cash and bought himself the finest drink in the entire restaurant, but today wasn't one of those self-fueled days. His face was still heated with embarrassment and he looked up at Goyle, quite at a loss of things to say. He couldn't deny that he'd felt bad for allowing Pansy to kick him away from the table. Perhaps he really didn't regard his friend's feelings at all. And once again the morose feeling of detainment weighed heavily on top of his anxiety ridden shoulders. He lifted the palm of his hand, rubbed his entire face, and brought himself up as well.

Goyle blinked up, a slightly drunken haze of his own glistening behind his own eyes; maybe he'd had too much to drink while he'd been sitting by himself. Slightly pale, he stammered, "w-what... where are you going?" he asked, dumbstruck.

"Home," Draco muttered, and with that, he pulled down his newsboy hat as low as it could possibly go, wrapped his scarf higher around his neck, and plunged his white hands into his pockets. Through the dimly lit dining place, Draco stared only at his feet, which carried him out towards the front door rather quickly. He didn't notice, however, the three men that had looked up upon the event of him passing by. They had been in a rather tight cluster, though their meaningless conversation had been abruptly shattered as the blond Malfoy fumbled out of the place. They exchanged glances, lifted themselves from their seats, and followed in pursuit, just barely at Draco's polished heels.

Though Draco wouldn't have even noticed their presence if someone had warned him. His mind was, so bluntly, elsewhere.

Going out with Pansy would be, after all, the right thing to do. And he should have done it when he'd had the chance. It wasn't that he desired her, or even felt that he was in love with her, though his feelings towards her didn't really matter. Pansy was, in truth, what everyone had been pressuring him to chase after. Surely, she was beautiful and rich and would probably be the supporting partner that everyone thought he should have. But Pansy didn't give him the weak in the knees feeling, she didn't even make him feel slightly relaxed. What she would make him, however, was comfortable. And wasn't that what really mattered? Appeasing everyone else? Ending all of their worries in the first place?

His father would love the idea. And so would his mother, who had wanted to see Draco paired up with a woman for the longest time. He was sure that she'd been planning his hypothetical wedding in her mind ever since he'd been born. Besides, being with Pansy would surely satisfy them.

And being comfortable was just as fabulous as being happy? Wasn't it?

He'd walked only several feet away from the bar when a loud voice called out, "Oy! Hey, oy!" A cluster of overwhelming dark shadows lingered up high on the sides of the red brick buildings. Malfoy stopped in his tracks, spun around anxiously, half expecting to see Gregory Goyle standing there timidly. However, these faces were undoubtedly fresh. The three men that had followed him from inside the pub stood newly eager in front of him, their hands in their pockets. They each wore an anxious grin of their own on their spoiled and ugly drunken faces. "Hey, boys, it is!" squealed one of them, "it's Draco Malfoy!"

"I knew it," snickered the other one, who was the tallest of the three. He was slightly out of shape, despite being seemingly thin, and his eyes darted back and forth between Draco Malfoy and the dark alleyway behind him.

Malfoy only remained slightly still, unsure as of what to really do next. He raised an eyebrow, as if to ask if the three were looking for something in particular, but they only stood there, glaring bitterly. Then, without warning, the tallest boy ran forward, jolting into Draco with such force that the two of them fell to the cement in unison. The collision caught him by surprise and, blinking up at the dark night's sky, Draco found that he'd been knocked on his back into the black alleyway behind him. For a moment, a striking sense of terror whirled around inside him, however he needed to fully regain his breath before acting next. What he only managed to do, however, was cough out, "what the hell?"

"Don't say anything," his attacker threatened and then a harsh tug swooped down at the back of his shirt collar, instantly yanking off his scarf. The shortest of the group, who was also the most fat, stood over him, reaching down harshly to remove the hat from on top of Malfoy's head. His blond hair fell messy around his face and the boys grinned. Malfoy then felt the tug on his collar tighten and he was dragged further down into the darkness, far out of sight from the middle of the street.

"Finally!" one of the men in the group laughed, "we've been dying to see your pathetic face out in public for... what's it been, hm?"

"Five years..." the other chimed in. His hand was still around Draco's collar, and he slightly raised his fist for an impressionable effect. Draco's arms flew upward to stop the choking sensation that cut off the air to his throat, but gave up trying to free himself once he'd thought of a better idea. His hands fell down to his trouser pockets, ignored the chorus of chuckling that the hostile men had taken up. Once he'd found what he was looking for, however, a rush of eager thrill overtook him. His veins pumped, wanting to get home as soon as possible, he knew that he would not hold back.

Holding his wand out in front of him, Draco spat furiously, "get your hands off of me. Now."

Certainly surprised, Draco's collar was loosened and he flopped to the ground on the sudden impact of being let go. However, he wasted no time to pick himself up. He held the wand out in front of himself threateningly and stepped only inches back. In the light he realized that he recognized not one of the three faces before him, but figured they had every reason to recognize him, of course. Their loathing, while completely understandable, was five years over done. Couldn't he walk the streets anymore without having to worry about such things happening? Goyle surely thought it to be possible. Oh, how wrong he was.

Though the three men's horror only lasted a short while. They exchanged looks and allowed themselves to smile once again. "Oh!" they sang, mockingly before diving into their own pockets, producing wands of their own. In front of his other friends, the tallest shouted with considerably quick abomination, "_Expelliarmus!"_ and Draco's wand was whisked out from his hands and sent hurdling in the direction of the others, who only kicked it hastily behind the cylindrical garbage bins that lined the back alley. "Now what," he merely stated.

Draco's heart skipped a beat. Now what was certainly the most fitting question to ask. He could feel the radio poke into his side and he stood, panting as if he'd just run a mile. Then, foolishly, he watched helpless as the leader of the three strode forward, his buzz shaved head almost blending in with the darkness. And Draco's stillness only seemed to frustrate him more. He didn't lift his wand, rather, but lifted his clenched fit and sent a fierce punch into Draco's stomach. For a moment Draco's vision consisted of nothing but the cliche scene of popping camera flashes. He arched forward, tolerating the radio at his side, and his knees went down first. With a little grunt, he hit the cement bitterly.

"Not so tough without your Death Eater mates around, are you, Malfoy?" But Draco only heard such a phrase uttered with muffled tones. He could feel his head follow fuzzy confusion, his attention only concentrating on his wand in general. However, a new hand dug feverishly into his pockets, freeing him from the protruding sensation that so annoyed his gut; the radio. The dirty blond man, who looked quite proper despite his drunken gaze, held the thing up in the air with a confused expression of his own. However, a smile instantly took over rather quickly.

"A Muggle toy, Malfoy?" he asked jokingly, tossing it up in the air with playful aggression. "Well, that's surprising." Though the item in question was no longer much of a fascination to him. He sent it skidding down the back of the alleyway, where it landed once again behind the garbage bins along with the lost hope that was Draco's wand. "Now, where were we?"

A sick sensation overtook him as the first large fist collided with his stomach. He doubled over once again, though took his own swing towards the closest of the three he could manage. He missed, and his fist just barely skimmed one of the boys as he dodged out of way at last minute. However, he made up for it rather quickly; stumbling up to regain himself, his second attempt proved much more successful. He knocked the tallest of the group at the left side of his skull and the boy tumbled to the side, gripping his head tightly with his fat fingers. A chorus of grunts echoed through the alleyway, and someone tripped over the tin garbage can, forced over by a second successful punch forced by Draco.

He felt a rush swell throughout him, and despite the noise his only focus was a way out. But a new grasp on his side prevented him from believing such an escape was possible. His third punch was held back and he felt five sharp nails dig aggressively into his forearm. Spinning around, he lunged towards his captor, but his plan was hurriedly prevented. Held by by yet another force, the two men at his side hoisted him off the ground by under his arms and pushed him thoughtlessly to the ground. Ahead of him, Draco could see the vision of the tallest of the men, still clutching his stomach, as he staggered in the distance. "Bastard," he was coughing, spitting out blood from a bit lip, "s-son of a bitch!"

"You alright, Sean?" called the figure at Draco's left.

But the man known as Sean only lifted the palm of his hand, silencing his mate. He scooted forward, looking sickly, and smoothed out the front of his wrinkled shirt. Dusting off the dirt from his trousers, he extended a long finger at Draco's heaving chest. "You are one piece of work," he accused, though he slipped his wand back into his jacket pocket, continuing to advance forward. His thin arm wiped the spit that traced his lips and chin, shakily adding, "you know that?"

Finally, the figure in front of Draco Malfoy lifted his fist, this time eyeing his target with determined intentions. And not even Malfoy could have prepared himself for the punch. Once again his knees went instantly weak and he felt them slap the floor with full intensity. He moaned, curling as much into himself as the two men at his side would allow, and coughed spastically. And the collision of Sean's foot into his gut only made the pain double. "Not so tough without your Death Eater friends, huh, mate?" he repeated.

Draco lifted his head, his eyes stining intolerably, and spit directly into Sean's ugly wrinkled face.

"Son of a b--" Sean growled, but in his anger he cut himself off in the midst of his sentence. He grabbed the square of Draco's jaw and held his head in place. Then, unfazed, he sent one final punch into the front of Malfoy's pale face. Draco heard his own nose crack, once again saw nothing but lights, and doubled over once Sean's shoe rammed bitterly into his stomach. He felt the release of his arms as they flopped down at his side and saw the fuzzy vision of the alleyway on his fall to the cement. "This isn't over," one of the men called back, though in his delusion he was unaware as to which of them had been addressing him directly. And then, as he pressed himself on to his back, Draco watched the shadows of the men drift off greedily before fading into the night altogether.

Newly accompanied by the silence, Draco blinked out the sweat from his eyes. The long trail of blood that oozed from his snapped nose leaked onto his nice white shirt. In the distance he could just barely make out the figures of his hat and scarf, discarded as far away from him as possible. He could hear nothing but the night blended in with the sound of his heavy breaths. He couldn't move. He couldn't even think of doing such a thing. With the nauseous churning in his stomach, Draco was feeling his consciousness fade in and out. Alone and lying flat on his back, Malfoy's only sight was the night sky, absent of any starts.

"Hey!" came a voice of the silence, "oy! You there?"

It took Malfoy a long moment to even realize where the sounds had been coming from. However, he located the noise from where it came from soon enough. Statically and slightly muffed, his wet eyes found the tiny radio, just meekly sticking out from the side of the overturned garbage can. Determination set in at once. With every, "hello?" Malfoy felt more and more embarrassed. And why was he moving towards the radio, anyway? He could hardly move at all, let alone crawl slowly towards it. "Oy!" the woman on the other end said again, a little agitated now, "I know you're there."

Malfoy's hands wrapped around the toy and his shaky finger pressed the speaker button unsteadily. His heavy breathing came through the other end as desperate and broken. "Now's not really the best time," he informed the voice, trying to mask his injuries.

However, the woman instantly let on. She stammered for a quick moment, and then said suspiciously, "where are you?"

"I dunno..." Draco drooled on, sounding a bit like he'd been sleep-talking, or at least, intoxicated. "Some alley someplace."

"Some..." she began, then decided against pressing the subject of his specifics, "what's going on right now?"

On the floor of the filthy alleyway, Draco scrunched up his pale face. His split lip throbbed with every time he opened his thin lips to form even the simplest of sentences. What had happened? How had he not noticed it? Surely, days ago, he would have expected such a thing. However, turning back to the radio, Draco said breathless, "nothing's going on. 'm fine."

"Don't lie to me. Remember. You were supposed to tell me the truth, alright? You promised. Now," Hermione proceeded to ask again, a bit of a quiver rising in her own voice, "what is going on?"

A slight grunt came from the speakers of Hermione's radio and she reeled back, staring down at the toy as if it had just caught fire. However, she'd assumed that the boy on the other end had brought himself to his feet and her suspicions were confirmed as the sound of feet dragging echoed through the speakers, as well. "Nothing's going on, I promise," Draco lied. And she was right. He'd pulled himself up from the ground in a haze and staggered towards his wand, swooping it up and ignoring the urge to be sick all over again. "I've actually got some good news?"

Hermione's tone of voice made Draco certain that she was doubtful. Uneasily, she asked, "...and what's that?"

"I've gained a whole lot of perspective. I think I know what I need to do." He replied, clutching the side of the brick wall. With the little strength he'd had left, he coughed into the radio, sniffling uselessly. He didn't bother to wipe away the blood that leaked from his face, probably couldn't have even lifted his arm in hopes of doing anything of the sort.

"You don't sound too well," Hermione stated, ignoring Draco Malfoy entirely, "you sound hurt."

"Nah," Malfoy retaliated, "merely enlightened. Now, listen to me: I've got to get going. But I know what I'm going to do now."

Further unshakable suspicion oozed from Draco's speakers; the woman on the other end was all but convinced. And, if Draco didn't know any better, he'd have figured her to be slightly worried about him. "Okay," she said, despite her concerns, "I guess I will uh... talk to you later?"

"Course," Draco responded, always the actor. He was, after all, the picture perfect stature of composure. Then, without waiting any longer, Draco released his finger from the speaker of the radio and stuffed the thing back into his coat pockets.

And staggering out of the alleyway, Draco set out to do exactly what he knew was inevitably necessary.

* * *

**Vonne: **Loonng chapter! Hope it was worth it! Thanks so much!


	13. Happiness in the Making

**Vonne: **Okay, usually about this time I try to break the rest of the story down-- try to figure out how I want to have all of this end. My plan as of right now is to make this just about thirty chapters. So, there is still much, much longer to go with this and hopefully that is good news to all of you! So, with that being said, I'll get right to responding back to all of you! Thanks again for all the reviews. It keeps me motivated to write more. I have the majority of this written already- but you all definitely give me reason to update this so fast! Thanks so much, everyone!

**Thwarted Moony: **You'll have to find out, but since you've already read the first chapter, I'm assuming you've already got yourself prepared for something of that sort coming. I hope you're not dying anymore now that I've updated... though I'm not sure how you'll like what actually did happen. Let me know what you think. I'd love to hear. HA!

**Doni: **Thank you! I'm glad you liked it and I'm really glad that you were concerned... I was hoping there would be much worry. :) But, just like I told Thwarted Moony, I wonder how you'll like the end of this chapter. Let me know, as well. :)

**Isabella120: **I know that you didn't post a long review, but I'll say 'hello' anyways and that your review of simply 'update' reminded me to do so! Thanks!

**Dramione1996: **I agree with you, I hope Draco is going to be okay, too. :)

**Anavell: **Uhhhhmmm... don't hope toooooo hard. I'm actually _dying _to see what you have to say to me at the end of this... :)

**Jade2099: **Thank you so much. I'm truly so happy that you feel I've portrayed something so serious to come off as realistic. I've never gone through depression myself, but knowing some people that have struggled with it, I've definitely come to understand the mindset that seems to fuel it. Anyway, I'm happy to hear that your ex-boyfriend is off to "bigger and better things"! That's awesome! Furthermore, I'm really glad that you're enjoying this. I'm enjoying that you all are enjoying this, too. I hope you like this chapter just as much-- if possible. :)

**Shining Bright Eyes: **Ha! Draco does need a big hug right now... probably a much more enthusiastic hug after his antics in this chapter. Or maybe a bit of a socking in the face- though maybe he's already got one too many of those. Well, definitely let me know what you think.

I can't wait to hear back from you all after this. Anyway, here it is.. chapter thirteen.

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**Chapter Thirteen:  
Happiness in the Making**

Draco Malfoy was beginning to think that he truly was loosing his mind.

As he limped lifelessly down the streets- the scene of Hogsmeade after hours- he kept his eyes focused on nothing but the narrow path ahead of him, for otherwise he may have been at a complete loss. He lifted his sore arms to rewrap his scarf around his sagging shoulders, pressed down his newsboy hat on top of his blond head with a dull expression, and realized that he'd looked something of an undeniable mess. Furthermore, he had gained a new respect for those suffering with broken noses and even found himself slightly sorry for breaking Harry's back in his sixth year at Hogwarts. As he passed every dark window, he looked anxiously at his reflection- the tall yet hunched version of himself covered in spit, dirt, and blood.

Probably he'd have a black eye by the morning; the throbbing sensation behind his eye socket seemed to bitterly confirm that suspicion. The bitterly disgusting taste of iron told him that his split lip was still fresh and bleeding and the pressure at the side of his shoulder told him nothing respectively, though Draco was sure that the sign was not a good one. Though it wasn't his currently awful state that truly had him worrying- instead, Draco Malfoy cursed his foolishness.

On days when his head was clear, he would have never let three strangers sneak up on him like they had-- let alone allow them to walk away victorious. He made excuses for himself, likely due to the ample amount of pride he'd had still left over, and told himself that if he hadn't drunk anything that night, things would have gone a lot differently. Though not even Draco's hearted excuses could spare him from the considerably reoccurring thoughts that pestered his running mind. More than everything he'd loathed his ignorance. And, as he staggered down the gravel that paved the streets of Hogsmeade, he silently loathed that thoughtlessness. Perhaps his Goyle, his father, and his mother were all right. Perhaps, if only Draco would start focusing on the things that truly mattered, he wouldn't be in this mess in the first place.

The clouds above him churned violently, finally drawing in as much attention to themselves as possible. It seemed as if a storm was in the works and, grimacing, Draco Malfoy shrugged, just about figuring that such weather was just his luck. And, like the icing on his misery day's cake, a tiny raindrop landed on the tip of his upper forehead, just to make his day worse. But Malfoy didn't bother to clear anything off of his visage, that was so obviously tainted beyond his current comprehension. Not even the blackly shaded windows could describe to him visually what his current appearance consisted of. However, allowing himself to look much one of the like the walking dead, he pressed his hands into his pockets and walked on continuously in a line that was presumably more of a squiggle than anything of the straight sort.

Just as he'd neared the end of Hogsmeade's streets, Draco's legs forced him back behind the little village, making the rather swift detour that he'd been aiming for initially. He struggled to remain standing as he broke off of the street, wandering in a haze through the back of the village, diving deep into the emerald green cluster of trees that surrounded the narrow road. Each hovering trunk proved invasive and unnecessary, and they stood in front of him like bothersome intruders. Malfoy shoved aside the thin branches that stuck out in his way, stumbled over the mud and permitted his unkempt hair to stick to his clammy forehead, plastering itself there like an uncanny sign of his despair. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and swallowed about a pint of his own blood. What was it about him that had made him so truly miserable? Not even Draco could pinpoint the exact moments of his life in the past that could have caused such feelings. His childhood had been admittedly idea, minus the years after he'd turned sixteen, but that was a thing of the past. Even the horrible, gut wrenching memories, the death and horror and destruction- that was years ago. His father had gotten over it and so had Goyle. So why hadn't he?

Huffing discourteously, Malfoy relaxed his shoulders, which swooped down lower with overwhelmingly unwilling force. Did his ignorance know no bounds? He gave the forrest he was walking-- or rather, limping-- through one last scrutinizing look and of course even the scenery represented his current mood. The whole place was stereotypical; each tree was stripped bare naked of any leaves and the brittle black color of each trunk resembled that of chipping paint. Above him the moon stood out like one big white ball of light, however it wasn't the light that brought the sense of hope to him. Besides, Draco never paid much attention to symbolism in literature, anyways, though he couldn't deny that his walk through the forrest perhaps meant something, if anything at all. He'd left the streets of Hogsmeade which, even after hours, had been clear and simple. Now he'd ventured an entirely different way; a way so completely off of the path that he had to literally step over tipped over logs just to progress anywhere (_if_, and only _if_, such a journey could be considered as a "progression").

But what was the use of overanalyzing the situation any longer? Nonetheless he was still stumbling onward and looking back wasn't making his body turn back around. No, not even the thoughts in his mind could turn him away from his goal at this point. Because maybe perspective was really what didn't matter all along. His fuzzy mind though him that maybe, in reality, the key to eternal happiness was... appeasement? Appeasement: because, in the end when all is said and done, everyone just ends up happy, right?

Through the darkness came a noise that even seemed to sound like a light switch turning on. "Hey," came a little meek tone that sounded out from his trouser pockets. "I know you said you needed to go a while ago, and that you needed to do something... and erm-- perspectives and all that but, uh, just thought that you didn't _really_ know what you were talking about."

The bags under Draco Malfoy's eyes deepened. As much as he wanted to just get his goal over with, he didn't need the woman's voice on the other end making him want to change his mind. Then again, he couldn't deny wanting to talk to her as well. And, strangely enough, a nervous twitch forced his hand in his pocket and he once again pulled out the toy radio. "Ah," he said, stumbling over yet another overturned log, "so you don't think I'm thinking clearly, huh?" he asked dryly, "is that what you're trying to say?"

"No," the woman's voice retaliated back, defensively. However, her tone was rather soft and hurt, as well, as if she truly hadn't meant to sound harsh in any way. "That's actually not what I was saying at all."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. For a moment his attention wad brought away from the forrest and the shortcut he was taking within it. "Then what, pray tell, where you implying?"

Not so many miles away, Hermione reeved back quickly, staring down at the radio in her hands with brisk aggression. Her small lips mouthed, "what the hell?" before she shifted herself, regaining her posture and sitting back up, straight and alert. "Are you drunk?" she asked him, accusingly.

The response that came back to her, however, came as not so much as a surprise. Back mingled in with the cluster of shadowy trees, Draco ran a shaky hand through his hair and ignored the fact that his palms were sweaty and spotted with blood- some of which he wondered was actually his. "Yes, actually," he admitted with a frown, once again cursing his own stupidity. What was she thinking? Of course he was drunk! Surely her thoughts of him weren't already that high. "In fact, I've probably had a bit too much."

"So," Hermione said testing him, "you're making some important decision while extremely intoxicated?"

Draco stammered momentarily, though his uneasiness only lasted temporarily. "Uh, yeah," he sniffed, noticing that the blood flow from the end of his nose was getting rather heavy. "It would seem to be that way, huh." And while the tone of his voice was in no way rude or intolerable, Hermione still regarded his misery as foolish. She pursed her lips together, mulling over the situation with awkward consideration, and when she finally opened her mouth again, she found that she was really at a loss for words. Draco on the other hand, finally found the strength to wipe his face-- and he did so with the sleeve of his coat, smearing maroon blood across his pale and sullen face rather messily.

Finally, pushing her own hair behind her ears, which turned red with every passing infuriating moment, she said, "well, I think that's a load of bullshit."

Blinking, Malfoy pushed himself along the forrest grounds, his free hand gripping his immensely pulsating temples. "You do, do you?" he asked morosely, his solemn tone practically undeniable. "Thank you, that's exactly the thing that I need to hear right now." Sarcastically, he added, "some load of help you are."

Face flushing, Hermione forced her teeth into her bottom lip. "Well, fine then," she said, rather angry despite the little conversation that had actually taken place, "don't take my advice. Because I'm telling you right now that I have a feeling--"

"A feeling?" Draco choked, feeling himself grow closer to his final destination, "a feeling? You know, I happen to be very confident in what I'm doing," he lied aggressively.

"Okay," Hermione nodded, flustered, "then I'm going to have no part of it."

And perhaps it was because he was truly overly intoxicated, but Draco's pulse instantly quickened. He felt a rage towards the woman on the other end that even he couldn't explain. What did she know, anyway? She surely didn't know him at all. How was she to know what was best for him in the first place? His parents and Goyle had hinted to him exactly what they'd ahd in mind for his life. And their plans included the very happiness that Draco himself truly desired. All the while the single word that Draco could only think about was: appeasement.

As the moments of silence lingered on, Draco had to almost force himself not to toss the radio across the forrest completely. Finally, spitting with rapid and rushed fury, he said back to her, "great! Don't have any part in it. I have enough people telling me how to live my life. Right now I'm working on making each one of them happy, alright? One fucking person at a time, okay!"

Hermione once again bit her lip, her fingers slightly slipping off of the radio's plastic surface. She nodded to herself and her brown hair fell staggering in front of her pretty face. "Okay," she agreed timidly and then released her finger from the speaker button, placed the radio underneath her bed mattress, and exited her bedroom completely.

At once Draco felt the loss of something inside of him. Before the regret took over, his rage took its time to slowly die down. Though not before long, every one of his hostile and wrathful thoughts directed at the voice had been replaced with thoughts of morose and sullen guilt. Even if he didn't agree with her, which he didn't, she was really only trying to help. Despite himself, a soreness overtook his dry throat and a newfound stinging tormented his eyes. He thought himself instantly stupid, spiteful, and unchanged. But these self assumptions only further fueled his determination to do what he'd set out to do: to start to try and make everything right again.

His eyes finally found what he'd been looking for; a small little house in the near distance. And in his delusion he'd completely disregarded the fact that he'd stepped out the side of the forrest quite sometime ago. Currently he looked like a drunk as he stumbled through the ghost-like neighborhood that he knew to be a bit too quaint for the person he was aiming to see. For the first time in a long time, however, he'd found himself rather lucky-- not a soul was wandering through the neighborhood and he stood like a shadow underneath the street lights that burned down on top of him with a florescent glow.

His arms and hands straight and flat at his slender side, Draco considered the circumstances. It was now or never and this was it. No matter how much Draco regretted his life all those years before, this would make everything okay. This would define the rest of what could be perhaps a comfortable and tolerable life.

He found the house, stood at the doorstep for quite some time before lifting his hand and lowering it into a knock. This time he did not hesitate, couldn't afford to do such a thing at a time like this. As he waited for the front door to open, he wondered what would happen if he had not spoken to Goyle at all about love, life, and marriage. Wondered if things had been different if Pansy Parkinson hadn't walked back into his life...

The door in front of him pulled open rather slowly and her figure, which was of course particularly lovely, was almost completely shaded by the darkness. In the blackness of her unlit house, Draco could just barely make out the glossiness of her eyes. "Draco?" she asked, just as meekly as she'd spoken with him before. She stepped out into the minimal light very slowly, and in her emerald robe, each of her gorgeous curves were defined with every step. Standing there beautifully, she was the picture of every man's perfect dream, though Draco Malfoy felt nothing special.

Once offered more of a significant view of Malfoy, Pansy's eyes widened fearfully. Her fingers dropped from the edge of her robe that concealed her chest and she looked back at him with complete horror, "oh, Draco... what's happened to you? A-are you alright?"

Draco swallowed hard the bothersome lump that held tight in his throat. He could feel his nose begin to bleed again, could feel just about every new hole-like gash on his head do the same mercilessly. But he shook his head, not truly desiring to explain the subject any further, "Yeah," he sniffed lying, "'M fine, Pansy."

Pansy's eyes watched him, dumbfounded and terrified. But, she truly wasn't looking very well, either, despite her current wardrobe of glamorous nightwear; her face was red and slightly swollen. Maybe she'd been more hurt by Draco's initial denial than even Draco could have imagined. Despite this she didn't shut the door in his face, instead she stood there opposite him, waiting for a response that Draco wasn't even sure how to give. His mind told him to go for it, to take her in his arms, told her tightly, and marry her. He could complete the cycle, do the very thing that he'd been advised to do: live life, get engaged, have children.

"You're hurt," Pansy repeated, watching a novel haziness take over Draco's face. He looked almost completely gone, and the staggering stance bitterly proved that to her. He only lifted his hand, which was covered with blood, and whisked the question away in one quick motion before letting it fall back down with limp expression. "Draco," she said, a creeping concern lurking so obviously in her voice, "what are you doing here?"

Malfoy didn't answer; his mind was too filled with thoughts that ran through his hazy mind. It was true that he was drunk, but with each miserable idea came a ping of undeniable truth. But he wanted happiness-- wanted it now more than ever. And this was it. Pansy... Pansy was it, the key to this goal, even if he wasn't too sure of it now. Like a heart beating in rhythm, Draco heard only the chorus of everything he'd been told he needed to do.

By doing what he was about to do, he knew that he would not have to suffer his biggest fear of dying along. Because then he could not die alone. He would die by the side of someone else.

His feet unwillingly brought him forward. It was beyond his control now. He couldn't even feel it when he pushed his torso forward towards her. And the numbness took over him completely as he lifted his sweaty palms up to her face, holding her entire jaw in place. She blinked, giving him a look that lasted only momentarily before she allowed him to lunge his body forward, kissing her lips. His mind was, in truth, barely there as he reached for the strap around her silky robe and watched it drop to the floor flowingly. Pansy's long and slender arm reached out and she shut the front door to her house, letting it shut with a rather harsh slam. She permitted him to fumble off her top and, in her bra she started off for him.

A rush of victory overtook her as she reached for Draco's scarf, pulled it off of his shoulders and tossed him to the ground. With full force she yanked him up the long staircase, listening to each echo of their feet as they slapped the floor. Then she whipped Draco's newsboy hat off completely, aiming next for the dark tie around his shoulders. And because it seemed to have taken Draco such an awful long time to stop shaking and unbuckle his black trousers, she scooted his hands away and unbuttoned them herself, spinning him around and pushing him through the double doors that entered her admirable bedroom.

In the dark, Draco felt somewhat more at ease, though he couldn't help his thundering heartbeat that boomed inside his sore skeleton. He went through the motions of it all, watching helplessly as Pansy tore off his coat, tossing it to the side of her bedroom. He heard the clatter of the radio as it hit the ground and even winced, feeling grateful that Pansy's bedroom was carpeted. But even as his burning regrets began to crawl back to him, he contined blocked out every single negative thought that entered his head, forgetting about the toy completely and turning all his attention back to Pansy.

Her fingers wasted no time ripping off his shirt. And she drew her lips to his neck forcefully. In the night, Draco pressed shut his swollen eyes, lifted his upper torso, and kissed her soft and long neck.

Going through the motions he told himself that this was it, everything that he'd wanted.

True happiness in the making.

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**Vonne: ** Review!


	14. Hello?

**Vonne: **This is going to be the last short chapter submitted, and also the last chapter that I feel might "drag on". I have this worry that you will all loose interest if I feel this fiction continues to do as such, however, I feel that this chapter was necessary to show how alike Hermione and Draco Malfoy really are. Besides, I have this planned out in my head straight up to the ending and I'd love for you to continuing enjoying this.

Anyway, I will respond to all of your reviews below and then get started on the next chapter as soon as possible-- in fact, chapter fifteen will be up probably sometime tomorrow. So, please, bear with me! I hope you do like this, anyways. :) Thanks guys!

**Thwarted Moony: **HA! Well, good! I was hoping that it wasn't going to be expected! Anyway, have faith that I will fix this. :) It is a Hermione x Draco fiction, after all. (:

**Isabella120: **No! I don't mind if your review was short- I just liking knowing that people read my stuff. I'm totally glad you enjoyed the first chapter- which hopefully served its purpose as being suspenseful. But remember that it leads up to something in this story that is coming up soon, so hopefully you will like that chapter just as much as the first, too.

**VoldyismyFather: **HA! I love your response. I kind of felt bad for Draco, too. Though, I'd been sure that many would be angry with him. Glad you had that reaction, though. (:

**Dramione1996:** HA, perhaps Draco only thinks he is a good liar, when really he's just shitty at it.

**Lumiere du Soleil: **Thanks so much! I hope that this fiction doesn't drag on TOO MUCH, but this is my last written chapter where nothing truly exciting happens. However, as stated above, I really feel like it was necessary to build believable tension between both Hermione and Draco-- they both think alike without even knowing it. I just hope people see that effect I was trying to bring across with this. And I promise to have much longer chapters from now on.

**Jade2099: **Ha, Poor drunken Draco. :)

**Shining Bright Eyes: **He is going to be pretty sore in the morning, that's for sure. Anyways, I love that you keep reviewing my fictions over and over. I really appreciate it and I love reading them. Thanks again!

Now, chapter fourteen! (:

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**Chapter Fourteen:  
Hello?**

Quite honestly, Hermione was not in the mood for the circumstances that her life had dealt her with this morning.

She was sitting with an uptight aroma, unkempt and sloppy, on the living room couch, in a considerably bad mood. And all the while, she didn't bother to deny the cause of it: it was that dammed radio. Because of that stupid toy and, of course, the boy on the other end, Hermione had not gotten an ounce of sleep the previous night. She detested the fact that she could remember every worrisome moment of it. Even embarrassed by her unconventional worrying, she tried to push the previous night's frustration from her already infuriated thoughts, and focus her energy into mentally burning a hole into the air in front of her. However, her company did not seem to quite catch on. Both Ron and Harry seemed to be furthermore oblivious to her frustration. In fact, the two seemed to be enjoying their own personal mornings as much as physically possible.

After striding into the living room early that morning, paper in hand, Ron had pretty much painted the smile forever on his face. He inhaled the living room air, tossed a grumpy Hermione a vibrantly enthusiastic nod, and flopped onto the couch, slipping loosely from the armrest into the seat cushion completely. "Lovely day out, isn't it, Ron?" Harry asked his friend as he raised his eyebrow inquisitively. He watched Ron whip out the paper, wave it fantastically in the air before him, and wink lively back at the two.

"It is a _brilliant_ morning!" Ron quipped. "Hey, Harry," came Ron's free voice again, which seemed unfailingly joyful, "did you read the morning's paper?" He had been holding in his slender hands the floppy thing as if he'd just won it.

"Can't say I have," Harry responded, arriving around the kitchen island with a single cup of tea in his hands. He then lifted his wand and watched the second cup float towards Hermione, who caught the steaming cup with jittery aggression before downing it desperately. He exchanged a quick glance with Ron and the two shrugged cluelessly in unison. "I'm guessing," Harry continued, nodding towards Ron's prized paper, "that it's good news this morning then?"

He lowered his head into the depths of the news and spoke loud, in a clear and unshakable voice. "_'Draco Malfoy," _Ron read a loud, squinting back into the thing, "_was spotted last evening at a local diner alongside known ex-Death Eater Gregory Goyle.'"_ Instantly, Hermione's morning worsened. She should have known that any smile belonging to Ronald Weasley that was that large couldn't have meant anything good.

"Harry," Hermione grunted, feeling more and more in the mood to remain grumpy, "I thought you said this nonsense was over with."

"Nonsense!" Ron retaliated, scrunching his face up in confusion, "this isn't nonsense, Hermione, _this-- this,_ is news!" Biting her bottom lip carelessly, Hermione mumbled brashly to herself, eying the newspaper with renewed fury. She decided she loathed the media just as much as the loathed her sleepless night. As Ron read on out loud, she took to scrutinizing the paper harshly. The putrid thing flashed its dancing pictures before Hermione with an attitude that she considered completely unnecessary, even if for merely a paper object. In the black and white picture, the repeated image of a slender figure that could have very possibly been Malfoy, slipped carefully inside a dinner pub. He had a newsboy hat pushed so low over his face, however, that it was practically impossible to tell. She grimaced, taking on Ron's vibrant beam, and crossed her thin arms across her chest, resisting the urge to tear the paper from Ron's grip completely. She sustained herself, however, even if just barely.

"Why do you care so much about this kind of thing Hermione?" Ron asked, his shoulders slinking down low. He looked slightly sheepish, despite the previously welcoming expression that once graced his face. "It's Draco Malfoy. It's not like it's anyone we were ever friends with in school."

"It's immature and overdone, Ronald," Hermione spat, smoothing her messy head of knotted hair aside, "besides, it's been five years, as I've already said." Then, she narrowed her eyes, leaned slightly forward, and winced testily, "are you saying you still hold a grudge?"

Ron stammered over himself, glancing up towards Harry with desperation. Harry, however, only turned away, deciding himself unable to deal with the situation anyway. He poured himself a second cup of tea and leaned back against the island, and crossed his legs at the ankles. Sure, he'd wanted to hear the rest of the paper, perhaps receive some insight into what Draco Malfoy had been up to over the past five years, but this wasn't worth fighting over. "I..." Ron started anxiously, "I... well, yeah, Hermione. What if I do still hold a grudge? Don't I have every right to?"

Hermione Granger: 0; Useless Brainwashing Media: 2.

Perhaps Ron Weasley had every right to hold a grudge and, quite honestly, perhaps they all did. Hermione had even carried such anger for a while after the whole battle had ended. With bitter resentment she'd recollected it. Having lasted for years, she not only hated Draco Malfoy, but she couldn't stand any of the bunch- Gregory Goyle, Pansy, Lucius and Narcissa. Now, she'd seemed to have finally let herself go. It didn't exactly feel as freeing as the therapists claimed, but the lack of resentment had felt somewhat... emotionless, She no longer felt the boiling anger, no longer desired to seek any revenge. All she wanted was the peace that the new Wizarding World so often promised.

And, really, she wasn't completely at terms with the surviving ex-Death Eaters , but at least she could let things go.

"Alright," Harry interjected, lifting the empty tea cup from Hermione's white knuckles, "end of conversation, Ron. How about we go get lunch?"

Hermione glowered. Truthfully, she would have liked to go to get something to eat, but agreeing upon such a thing would only taint her goal of appearing miserable. "Nah," she said, shaking her head just as she noticed Ron pop up, eager to stuff his face, "I'm just going to stay here." Ron and Harry's face doubly dropped. They opened their mouths to suggest otherwise, but Hermione only held up her hand. "No, really," she insisted, "I've got some studying to take care of," she lied. "Now, go."

And as the two exited sluggishly, Hermione directed her wand and allowed the leftover paper to catch instantly in flames.

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"Draco!" Came the call of a beautiful voice, even in the most exaggerated of tones. She was singing ever so slightly, and the figure of her body strode halfway across the room, stopping at the curtain covered windows. "Draco, wake up."

Groggily, Draco Malfoy pulled open his half crusted eyes. Saying that he was hungover was ultimately an understatement and as Pansy pulled the heavy curtains aside, he turned over on his side, curling up tightly into himself. With his face pressed against the soft mattress, Draco could instantly tell that his current conditions hadn't changed an ounce from the previous night before. Against Pansy's nice white sheets, he could see the smeared vision of his own maroon blood. From his mouth, there was the crusted stain of dried saliva. Moaning, he could feel the thundering beat of his own throbbing headache. As each moment passed by, the thing doubled, pumping almost literal battery acid. "What time is it?" he moaned, keeping his face pelted against the bed, blocking out the sunlight that the woman had just allowed in.

With a giggle, Pansy responded, "it's noon, Draco. Noon! Do you always sleep in that late?" Malfoy grimaced; no, not usually, though only while having been previously intoxicated. He'd hoped Pansy could get used to such a bothersome habit, now possibly quite a significant trait. However, in the back of his mind he knew that Pansy was going to have much worse to try and get used to.

There was an instant weight on the bed and Draco felt Pansy scoot her body close to him. A cold shutter ran up his spine and the previous night's activities rung slightly nauseatingly back to him. But if Pansy could manage to get used to Draco Malfoy, then he could surely spare her the time of day. He didn't fully loathe her, and love... maybe he would in due time. Though as he felt Pansy's hands creep up his shoulder, ignorantly massaging his sore shoulders, he couldn't help but feel a little sick. "You can't lay in bed all day, Draco. Let's go get lunch."

Lunch. In reality, Draco would have loved to go get something to eat, however, right now he was more content with remaining in a lazy and difficult mood. However, to spare Pansy the worst side of himself, he pulled himself up, ignoring the aching that tortured his entire body. He winced at the light and wondered why Pansy insisted on keeping the curtains open. She did seem concerned about Draco's appearance, though. Reeling back instantly, Pansy's face melted into a disgusted grimace. "You should probably clean yourself off," she suggested. "You look awful."

Malfoy raised his hands to his eyes, rubbed them lazily. With his renewed clear vision, he could see Pansy in all her complete exterior. She was, even early in the morning, as put together as he'd remembered. Already she'd applied her makeup, looking glowingly gorgeous behind all her concealer. At the moment, all the disguise made Draco temporarily curious- he'd never quite seen Pansy without makeup on her face. However, he ignored the fact, slipped off of the bed, and obliged Pansy's suggestion. He grabbed his boxers and dirty white undershirt as he slipped groggily off of the bed. As he staggered into her bathroom, he stopped carefully in front of the mirror, gripped the bathroom sink, and caught himself in the reflection of the mirror.

His eyes were merely only slits. Around his left, a rather large purple bruise wrapped around his entire eyelid. His bottom lip was busted open completely, giving him quite an enthusiastic pout. He felt strange standing there half naked, but all the while his mid was buzzing. Fuzzy and aimless, he couldn't quite manage to think straight. Sluggish, he slid his hands across the wide sink, and stood in front of the mirror in a drawl, his head lagging down to the tiled floor. "I have some spare concealer, if you'd like to use some," Pansy suggested all too seriously and she pounced off of the bed, wrapping her coat around her shoulders.

Malfoy only stood there frozen. Over and over in his head he told himself that he'd done the right thing the night before; that in ten years, when he was 'content', he would thank himself for all of it. "No," he shook his head, feeling foolish to even have to answer such an obvious suggestion, "I'm... fine, thank you."

"Surely you can't go out in public looking like that!" Pansy accused, striding over to him. With slippery hands, she wrapped her hands around Draco's shoulders and perched her chin on his shoulders. All the while, Malfoy only remained unmoving. It bothered him that she hadn't pressed on her concern for what had happened to him-- even if he had no plan of telling her. It bothered him that she kept the curtains open, despite his obvious discomfort.

It bothered him that she couldn't tell that he was extremely hungover for fuck's sake.

But he did this for his future. For himself and his family and for everyone that wanted him to improve his misery. He did this for eventual happiness and satisfaction. He did this to move on and away from the current mess that marked his life. He did this, most of all, to completely and utterly forget. "Actually, Pansy," Draco contradicted, spinning around into Pansy's front, "I'd like to stay home this afternoon."

"Stay home?" Blinking, Pansy's voice rose, as if she'd never heard such a completely absurd desire. "But the weather's only going to clear up for a couple hours before raining again!"

"I know," Draco nodded, lifting a hand to pat her slender shoulder, "but... you should go out." Then, sweetly, he offered her a small smile before slipping away from her grip. As he strode back towards Pansy's bed, he made for his clothes, pulling his pants over each of his pale legs before making way towards his discarded button up. "I'd like to see you tonight," he asked, despite himself, trying to make an effort. "Maybe for dinner or..."

Pansy, looking slightly flustered, continued towards him with confusion etched on her face. "okay," she started, slightly uneasily, "do you want me to put in reservations?"

"Actually," Draco murmured, wincing with every loud noise that Pansy subjected him to, "actually I was thinking someplace out of the spotlight."

"Come over here!" Pansy all but yelled, a desperate smile on her face, "I'll cook some dinner and we can just... relax. Okay?"

"Okay," Draco agreed, and then his head fell downward slightly. With his fingers moving in unison, he buttoned up his shirt and made for his scarf. Then, with more desperation, he lowered himself to his coat on the ground, felt quickly for something inside of his pocket, and wrapped it around himself eagerly.

However, as he sat back down to slip on his shoes, Pansy's confusion only seemed to deepen. "I thought you didn't want to go out," she asked him, meekly.

"I dont," Draco added, carefully. He could see that somehow he was hurting her feelings and, despite himself, he found that he actually cared. Much more softly, he approached her, taking her face in the palms of his hands. He wished he could feel the feeling that he wanted to feel, wished that he felt the butterflies that he'd heard so often associated with love. And as he stomach felt nothing but ill, and his heart beat at a normal pace, he felt the sinking feeling of disappoint riddle horribly inside of his skeleton. Perhaps love was not in the books for Draco Malfoy. "I just need to get some sleep, okay?"

Pansy seemed to fall for Draco's faux affliction. She smiled proudly, and her hands made eagerly towards the collar of Draco's coat. Without asking, she took to pulling it once again off his shoulders, ignoring his stammers of protest, and her fingers took to undoing his buttons all over again. "Okay," she nodded, grabbing his hand and leading him back to the edge of her bed. "I'm going to go out by myself-- just like you suggested. You can stay here and relax as much as your little heart desires. How's that for an idea, hm?" Malfoy blinked, almost surprised to find himself having been coaxed back by her bed. With a shocking amount of force, Pansy pushed him back on to the mattress and brushed his blond hair behind his ears, whispering, "I'd like it if you stayed."

And how could he argue? This was very possibly his future wife that he was staring back at. For a reason unwillingly beyond himself, Malfoy watched Pansy stride away from her, a twinkling glisten behind her eyes, and laid back against the head rest, defeated. He laid against the wall still until he'd heard the descending heels of Pansy vanish down her staircase. Then, when he'd heard the front door to her house shut close, he slapped a clammy palm against his sweaty front.

Then his hands found the circumference of the radio, pulling it from his jacket pocket with instant desperation. What was it about the times that made him revert to the toy radio so instantly? He had never even met the girl on the other end, didn't know very much about her anyway, so why of all people did he feel so attached to her? "Are you there?" he croaked into the machine tiredly.

But nothing came back as an answer. Not a noise even bothered to give him the time of day. And a ping of guilt infiltrated him. Feeling strange and sheepish, he tried again with a hoarse tone of voice, "hello?"

And when once again, his only response was that of undeniable silence, he leaned his head back once again, and felt himself dissolve into nothingness.

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**Vonne: **REVIEW! (:


	15. Walk In Closet

**Vonne: **I decided to upload this chapter a bit early, despite not having as many reviews as I'd anticipated for the last chapter. However, it was due to the fact that I wasn't entirely satisfied with leaving it off there, either, that I wanted to submit chapter fifteen so fast. Anyway, here's my responses to all the reviewers from the last chapter-- thank you all so much!

**Shining Bright Eyes: **Thank you so much! I was so glad to read your review because you're response was exactly what I was hoping everyone else would have. My goal when writing is to make everything seem more NOT like fanfiction and more over like a regular, with problems that work itself out realistically. I definitely want to build on ALL of the relationships you've suggested and I am totally planning on doing that. Anyway, thank you so much for your review. I'm so glad that you understand the direction!

**Jade2099: **Aw, I am so glad that you liked the previous chapter, as well. I am just so glad that I have readers that understand where I'm trying to take this fan fiction. It's really refreshing! Hermione does seem to be the only sane one so far, but she always has been the most clever! Anyway, thanks so much for your reviews! I really appreciate them!

**Dramione1996: **Hm, I'm not really sure what happened with that, then. Did you perhaps hit a wrong button? Anyway, thanks so much for your reviews. I appreciate them! Hopefully you'll figure out what went wrong with the chapter mix up- HAH. I woudn't want you to be confused.

**Isabella120: **Aw thank you! I realized that it wasn't exactly the most captivating chapter previously, but I feel it definitely needed to be written. This chapter's got something happening, definitely, and Hermione gets a bit more insight than she bargained for.

**Doni: **Thank you! I was so excited to read your comment. I'm so glad that you like the way this is written- so, thank you! And, to top it all off, I loved the words you used in your reviews (both of them). HA!

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**Chapter Fifteen:  
Walk In Closet**

Draco Malfoy was buried in the depths of the darkness known as Pansy's walk-in closet. He had pitched his back against the strong wall and pushed himself tightly against it. A rather lavish coat hung delicately in his face and, currently, he had never felt so desperate. A swing of nausea swept over him as he clutched the tiny radio, waiting to hear something, an ounce of breath, or even a mere intake of it. However, the silence was his only company. In the back of Pansy's closet, so big that perhaps it could serve as a spare room, Draco couldn't help himself from sweating. He didn't care about his battered appearance or the fact that the dried blood would probably forever leave a mark on his once nice shirt. All he cared about was hearing that voice again; if he could hear that voice, somehow, he would feel right again.

He shut his eyes in the darkness, plunging himself further into the false night. Pansy had been gone longer than he'd expected, much to his appreciation, and he'd taken to locking himself with the radio for as long as it took. Furthermore, he couldn't quite possibly imagine never hearing from the woman on the other line again. He'd only just began speaking with her, but for one reason or another he'd quite enjoyed doing so-- one of the few things he'd still found himself enjoying. Because while food didn't taste appetizing anymore and even his favorite hobbies seemed pointless and droll, he still found importance in the radio. And such an enjoyment was odd to him, was still odd, but he couldn't deny himself from his own personal satisfaction-- even if it was something he didn't fully understand himself.

Frustrated, he released his finger from the speaker button of the radio, tossed it on top of his piled up coat, and banged the crown of his skull against the wall behind him, croaking out, "dammit!" A collection of Pansy's precious coats fell freely from their hangers and landed lifeless on top of Malfoy's blond head. With a burst of uneasy anger, he wiped each possession from his person, kicking them into even more of a messy clump towards the corner.

Surely, with as much pride as he'd lost over the past five years, he could bring himself to say sorry. However, even he realized that such a thing was only a fabrication of what he actually could do. He bent down gently, picking up the toy once again, and leaning back again; this time standing on his shaky feet. "I know you're there," he tried, tired and almost whining. He rubbed the bridge of his nose between his eyes, "please?"

"I- I'll t-tell you everything," he bargained, shrugging as if to free himself from any embarrassment. "Whatever you want to know, okay? Just..." he let himself trail off. Just what? Answer back? Say something, anything, to let him know that he, Draco, was not alone in the darkness?

The moments before he heard anything was almost unbelievably torturous. He could feel the tenseness build up unwillingly in his throat. His headache doubled and, instantly, he wished that he'd pulled off a more constrained voice. However, his moment of regret only lasted temporarily. "Ah," the voice said with with, just as Draco had barely lost all hope of retrieving any answer at all, "so _now_ you're wanting to talk to me? What's changed from the night before when you completely blew me off?"

Even in his misery, Draco couldn't help but smile. A numbness that was strangely welcomed took over his entire body and he could almost completely block out the pain that so harshly gripped him. She'd answered, despite whatever they'd been arguing about the night before. And for some reason that fact made Draco feel important to someone else. "About that..." he drooled sheepishly, "I'm... uhh... well, you know."

"I know?" The female voice guessed, raising up ever so slightly, "actually, I'm sure I have utterly no clue what you are talking about, sir."

Malfoy frowned. She was pushing it, and he knew it. However, he let his hand fall from the front of his face and whispered as if someone were listening, "sorry. I'm... sorry."

A little giggle rose out through the speakers and Draco looked up, slightly shocked. He hadn't exactly figured that the woman would take his apology as humorous. However, she stopped laughing, lowered her own voice too, and asked with a slightly jokingly flirtatious murmur, "why are we whispering?"

Draco's tone, however, was nothing but serious. He stared at the Muggle radio with narrow eyesight and smoothed back his hair, regaining himself. Though he didn't stop to bother whispering. "I have a bit of a hard time with apologies," he admitted, and then said slightly contradictory, "so, consider yourself lucky."

"Oh, I do," the voice teased, slightly sarcastic. "So," she said, adding on to their conversation with casual intent, "how did your.. err-- plan... work out for you last evening?"

Malfoy hesitated. He looked around at his current predicament. Sitting in the blackness of Pansy's large closet, he felt instantly red in the face. He found himself lucky that there was no way that the woman on the other end of the radio could see his battered face. That way, lying came more easily. "It went... swimmingly," he lied, hitting himself the very moment he'd finished his sentence.

"Really?" Hermione asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"No, not really."

Hermione paused, chewing her bottom lip. Oddly enough, she didn't feel the need to yell out victoriously, "I told you so!" Instead, she found herself at a loss for words. Stammering, she asked, "do... you want to talk about it?"

Once again, Draco muttered with his eyes closed shut, "no, not really."

Then a new bit of silence overtook the two of them. At the other end, alone in her house, Hermione shifted slightly on the couch. Her mood seemed to have instantly lightened ten fold; though it wasn't because of the bad news about the boy's previous night, but only because she'd been talking to him in the first place. Setting aside of steaming cup of tea, she leaned forward on her knees and wrapped the throw blanket around her shoulders. "Well," she said, once she'd decided she'd have enough of the silence, "what are you waiting for?"

Malfoy stammered, uneasily, "... waiting for?"

"You told me you were ready to fill me in on everything." Hermione, with her new posture comfortably leaning back on the living room couch, felt a bit more relaxed. Perhaps she'd accepted the boy's apology too easily, but then again, she'd got out of apologizing herself. What was more touching to her was that he didn't ask her to do so-- and the very fact made her slightly anxious to keep the conversation going.

Draco swallowed hard, "I did, didn't I?" he asked, playfully, however his voice turned instantly serious and solemn. "What is it you want to know?"

Hermione waved her hand around loosely. Her wrist popped, as if having let out as much stress as possible. She shut her eyes, tired of having to answer the boy's same question over again, but slightly glad that she was given the chance to in the first place. She started off by slurring, "I'm not going to ask you about your night before unless you want to tell me." Then, she waited for him to speak up. When he didn't do so, however, she bit her bottom lip, only slightly disappointed. "Okay, then. Start from the beginning. Why are you so miserable."

Malfoy scooted Pansy's coats far away from him, pulled his wand from his pocket, and with a wave, they'd recollected themselves back on their hangers. "I'm warning you right now--"

"I'm a big girl," Hermione snapped, slightly agitated. "I think I can handle whatever it is you have to dish out to me." Once she'd said it, she reeled back, flopping back onto the couch with a somewhat accomplished intake of breath. In real life, Hermione wasn't as confident or as sexy as she so appeared on the other end of the radio. However, there was something about the anonymity that thrilled her, further fueled it. She'd always wanted to be that type of person anyway-- confident, sexy, mysterious. And the silly little toy seemed to bring that part out of her... and she loved it.

Inhaling, Malfoy wasn't too thrilled about the mysterious girl's confidence or enthusiasm. In fact, he bitterly regretted promising to tell her anything in the first place. But he recollected his past several days morosely, realizing that it was either the radio or an actual therapist. Wincing, he remembered the feeling of being completely lost in that office and he knew that he never wanted to go back. "During the battle," he started, instantly thrusting himself into the bet that he'd promised on giving, "I wasn't really on the best side..."

Hermione gasped, reeving forward. "You were a Death Eater?" she accused, her voice hoarse and sharp. The robe had slipped from one of her boney shoulders, and her hair fell slyly across her face. A buzz ran through her mind. She'd realized the worst, but somehow she couldn't manage to put down the radio. Her fingers gripped it tight-- so tight that her knuckles turned a ghastly shade of white.

Malfoy turned a bright shade of red in the dark closet. "I never said that," he flushed, his hair falling messily in front of his forehead.

Huffing, Hermione shifted. Her own hair now covered half her face. "Surely," she breathed, tirelessly, "you implied it."

Once again, Draco pressed a hand to his face, though he left it there without any movement. He spread only his two longest fingers to peak through them, and just managed not to slump to the ground. "I'm not a Death Eater," he only half-lied. True, he had been, once... but that was the past. And the woman on the other end didn't need to know that much of it.

"Yes you are, admit it!" Hermione recoiled, brining her forehead with a newfound frustration. "You said... you said you wouldn't lie!" The way in which her voice sounded, she almost came off as scolding. However, the breathlessness in which she spoke made her sound almost emotional with shock. In fact, she had to hold her quivering chest.

"And what if I were?" Draco whispered, altogether more humiliated. His hand still pitched over his entire face, his eyes were pressed shut. Maybe being completely embarrassed of his past was part of the core reason why he was so depressed in the first place. He thumped the back of his skull against the wall, cursing himself angrily. Then the circumstances took a strange twist- neither of the two said a word and it wasn't the same quietness that had infiltrated their conversations before. As Draco's head began to buzz, Hermione felt her face completely heat.

She wanted to both thrust the radio against the wall and trace down whomever this person was, as well. She took back every bit of resentment she'd had in her past, allowing absolutely detest fill her entire torso once again. Maybe Ron was right, maybe it was necessary to hold grudges. And just when she was starting to like this boy on the other end...

"Who is this?" she spat, clearly angry.

But Draco's head was only filled with humiliation. "I..." he began, but his nerves stopped him. Finally, he slid back down Pansy's closet wall, pressed his forehead to his knees, and murmured sheepishly, "I never said I'd tell you..."

"Well you don't have to tell me, sir." Hermione grumbled. She'd lifted herself up from the couch, her fists clenched. "It's been five years, but I still have every right to be... to be..."

"Angry," Draco finished her sentence for her. Swallowing hard, he nodded against his knees, screwing up his hair even more. "And you're right... you--"

Heated and flushed and throbbing, Hermione cut him off instantly, not even completely hearing what he was saying through the speakers. She couldn't help the frustrated tears that filled her eyes and as she felt the intense lump in her newly sore throat, she waltzed from behind the coffee table, nearly tripping over it in the process. "And you know how many... how many _lives_ you and your... your _cult_ put in danger? How many lives you _ended!"_

He didn't move a muscle. Only opened his mouth to agree with her, once again falling silent. Despite himself, he could feel his own overwhelming burst of guilt take over. Perhaps he'd better have stuck with the therapist, where at least he was so far gone he couldn't even remember the session to begin with. But this, this now, was grueling and almost completely unbearable. And the worst part about it all was that she was right. Every disgusting word she threw at him, every accusation, was one hundred percent justified. Frog-like and groggy, he nodded with a hoarse voice, "yes, and I--"

Hermione glowered, her eyes burning mental little holes through the plastic device. "You _what_?" she hissed.

"I- I a-agree with you... with... with everything you said." The admission didn't come as hard as Draco had expected. In fact, saying such a thing out loud felt almost freeing. He lifted his head up from his knees, cradled it in his clammy palms, and swallowed bitterly.

And when Hermione repeated herself, her tone lacked any amount of detest at all. Only confusion riddled her soul as she repeated once again, "what?"

"You're absolutely right," Draco muttered in the dark. "Everything you said is right and... I- I.. I have to live with that."

Once again, the both were at a loss. Instantly, Hermione felt weak in the knees and she back stepped, colliding with the kitchen island instantly. For a moment she'd even wished she could take back her yelling. Though it had allowed her to let out all the bottled up anger she didn't even realize she'd had, she had completely reverted back to her old self-- had been hypocritical. Though she had to admit that she wasn't expected as an answer to her outburst. She sniffed, pushing her hair out of her face with the entire front palms of her hands, and then messed her hair back up by running a shaking hand through it.

She turned herself around, pressing herself against the island completely. "what?" Malfoy lifted his head. From the speakers, Hermione could hear that he was attempting to repeat himself again. "No, no," she advised strictly, "don't speak... don't... d-don't you say anything." Obliging, Malfoy fell silent.

What was it that made him want her to not hate him? His heart beat anxiously in his skeleton. He'd hoped that she wouldn't resent him forever, but knew that he probably deserved everything that she could feel for him. However, her silence didn't last long. She'd thought out what she'd needed to and he could hear her footsteps as she paced against the tiled floor of her house, apartment, closet, whatever. "Well, that makes sense," she said in a whisper, "with you being so _completely_ mental." Hermione slid her own palm down the front of her face. "So, you've begun," she said, shaking with what was unquestionably anger. However, it seemed to be dying with every passing moment, "keep going."

Malfoy blinked, "k-keep?--"

"Going! Merlin!" Hermione spat.

"I've been... questioning everything ever since the Battle was a main topic of... Voldemort's." Draco swallowed, feeling a ping of fear even merely muttering the deceased man's name. Hermione at the other end caught on, but managed to refrain herself from feeling any pity. Instead, she stepped away from the island, sluggishly strode across the kitchen floor, and headed straight for the first place she figured Ron and Harry wouldn't find her. On fast feet, she made for her bedroom, kicking aside any loose articles of clothing that lined the floor, and sat on the bed, shaking uncontrollably. However, she sat silent, listening with undeniable fascination. "I didn't want to be part of the whole thing anymore..."

She allowed him to continue, taking note of the difficult time he'd had speaking any of it at all. "You... you don't even know what they made me do. And I was stuck there by more forces that one. I...I didn't know what to do because if I left... if I left, they'd kill me."

Hermione couldn't help but slink down lower. Her mind was buzzing in all different directions. Who was this? It had been five years and there had been many Death Eaters released from prison for numerous reasons. And then instantly her mind found the ghost of the newspaper. Gregory Goyle, she thought bitterly, or any of the underground followers. There were way too many for her to even remember. Then she thought back to the paper with more severe interest: Draco Malfoy.

However, she instantly brushed that thought away. Her better sense told her that there was no way Draco Malfoy was the boy on the other end of the radio. First off, he hadn't even stepped out of his house until recently. How would he have stumbled upon the radio she'd set out? Besides, Draco lacked any... any charm. No, Hermione was sure that, of all things, it could not be Draco Malfoy.

"Perhaps they should have killed you," Hermione responded, more harsh than she'd anticipated. However, the voice fell silent, as if agreeing with her, as well. "Go on," she commanded, pressing her eyes shut. She felt stupid, despite herself. She had thought that the boy was interesting and charming and intelligent. She'd thought that she enjoyed having conversations with him. She'd thought that maybe he was a good person despite all his past.

Malfoy groaned, miserably, "granted," he began, firstly agreeing to her previous statement of damnation. He inhaled, completely forgetting about his battered appearance- he was much more concerned about the situation at hand now. "...I guess what I'm trying to s-say is that I... I'm a little bit broken." A whirlwind of humiliation rushed through him yet again. But he'd had to say it.

"I'm guessing," Hermione spat, only slightly more calmed herself, "that you lived at the Malfoy Manor."

Draco's heart skipped a beat and his instant reaction was to lie. Stammering, he only responded, "y-yes, but... but only after a while. I... I was there..." he ran he hand once again through his blond head of hair. "Generally, I was there for only a while. I didn't spend most of my time there..." He pounded his forehead nervously, waiting for her answer.

Hermione leaned forward on her own, pressing her face into her lap. So it wasn't Draco Malfoy.

"Now let me ask you this," she began, flustered beyond belief, "why in the world did you hate it?" When she spoke next, she was only being half sarcastic. In all honesty, she didn't truly believe much about the boy's misery now. What she'd considered him to be was nothing more than a criminal, only sorry for having been caught. Did his pride get popped like a mere bubble? Was the newfound infamy too foreign and harsh for him? An overwhelming heatstroke overtook her beating heart. Her anger was almost absolutely uncontrollable. "I mean," she laughed, so bitterly that she surely had given Malfoy her harsh message, "don't get me wrong- the people there were the most disgusting people that lived on this planet. But, they gave you everything. You were part of their... their group. You helped them out, didn't you? Besides, the Malfoy's mansion is, unfortunately, a lovely home. Surely, it couldn't have been that awful."

Malfoy shook his head, which throbbed mercilessly, "that's not how it was... at all. Please," he merely whispered, "you have to believe me. If I could have left... I would have. That place... the Manor, it was a living hell."

"Doubtful," Hermione croaked. Then, biting her lip, she added child-like, "I don't believe you. You understand, I'm sure."

Only able to reside in his own stammering, Draco couldn't quite manage a sturdy tone of voice. In fact, the only thing that he could even muster was to hoarsely start, "I... I..."

He could feel the stinging burn in the depths of his throat, and he couldn't quite help it. He didn't want to remember anything about his old house, didn't want to remember even the slightest thing about it. Even the minimal childhood memories that he could remember had been tainted by death and murder and torture and pain. He could feel the intensity that ached his sore eyes, felt them dampen and cursed himself for breaking down so easily. What was happening to him? At once he'd been so hard, and now, even the mere mention of his past completely tore him to pieces. He couldn't do this, but he knew he had to. Despite everything, he knew he had to.

"I can't even begin to start. It doesn't start anywhere..." he chocked out, feeling himself loose any sense at all. "I couldn't even p-pick a place. But saying it is fuzzy and beyond me... that would be a lie because I r-remember e-every single moment of it. And I'll _never _forget any of it."

"What was so awful, huh?" Hermione asked, shakily, "pray tell, because I'm _sorry_ but this is completely _beyond_ me."

Draco shook his head. He could fell the aching sensation that tortured his entire body. His arms ached and the open gashes on his face seemed to sting and burn with every twist of his head. But this was nothing to what he'd felt during his time with the Death Eaters, during his time back at his home. However, he'd already started and he realized that he was way too far in to go back now. Confessions seemed to pour out of him, flood-like and unstoppable. And while he hadn't fully crumbled yet, he could fell a breakdown nearly upon him. With every stammer, his throat tightened and his heart beat fast and even faster.

His eyes shifted around the depths of the dark closet, half weary that Pansy would walk in at any moment. She'd been gone for a while, and such a thing was possibly a risk. He couldn't let her see him like this, not when he was supposed to be sleeping soundly in her bed. And then he heard it, the door whirl open, and the sing-song voice of Pansy, happy to have finally nabbed Draco after all. "Draco!" she called from downstairs, and Malfoy could hear the rustle of her baggage as she set them down on the ground.

"I..." Malfoy started, breathless from the instant bit of energy that gripped him. "I h-have to go."

"Excuse me?" Hermione spat, half expecting for him to spill out everything. And she might have just about gotten lucky, for Draco had expected himself to do the very same.

But Malfoy was pushing his way through the closet, bending down with full force to scoop his jacket up off of the floor. "I'm sorry," he added hoarsely. "I p-promise I'll let you know whatever you want..._ tomorrow._ Just---"

"Fine," Hermione cut him off, once again. She released her hand from the speaker of the radio and tossed the thing lightly in front of her, as if it had just burst into flames. For a moment, Malfoy froze, staring at the radio with shock as he'd realized that she'd left. A swimming rush of relief rushed over him, but at the same time he felt a sickening feeling of utter loss. However, nothing of the sort could stop him. He heard Pansy's light footsteps climb the marble staircase and he bolted from the wall to the closet door, stumbling over his own feet. Kicking off his shoes, he flung each one to the side of the bedroom wall and thrust his jacket to the floor.

With shaky hands he untucked the button up from his trousers, to make himself appear even more convincing, and climbed back onto the bed, pulling the elegant covers back over his face. And as he did this all in one single breath, he heard the door to Pansy's beautiful bedroom swing open. She swiftly made way to the bed and under the covers Draco pressed his eyes shut. "I brought you some steak," Pansy offered, lavishly bragging about the quality of the meal in general. But to himself Draco grimaced; he'd hated steak.

"Mmm," he moaned, despite himself, staring at the take-out tray containing the grotesque meat. Pansy's eyes twinkled, but she was staring at Malfoy only. Awkward and a bit uneasy, Draco finished off with a politely meek, "thank you."

"Of course, Draco," Pansy nodded, scooting away from him. Then she attended to her bag, lifting out a brand new coat from the paper, and heading to her closet to hang it back up. As she stuffed the gorgeous article away, Draco picked disgustedly at his meat. "Draco," Pansy called from inside the large closet.

Looking up from his food, he set the plate aside, at least forcing some pieces of it down his throat. He sighed, shifting a little bit against the pillows, that were hard and uncomfortable. "Yes?"

"Are you alright?" She asked again, emerging from the closet and shutting it briskly. "You look like you've been... I don't know... crying."

The previous statement stumped him. Slightly struck, he cursed himself with slight aggression. He'd thought he'd pushed away any sign of discomfort from his visage before Pansy walked in. However, his obvious sign of failure only further added to his misery. "Oh, no," Malfoy shook his head, "I'm fine... I just... had a bad dream."

Pansy smiled, smoothing back her hair. She didn't press the issue, but only seemed happy with the answer she'd received. "You won't be having nightmares for too much longer, I promise," she suggested. "Anyway, about our dinner plans," she began again, "I was thinking we'd go on a picnic tomorrow-- not out in public. Just in the backyard. The fresh air might be good for you." Draco watched Pansy smooth out the sheet in front of him. There she went again- thinking for him. However, all the while he did not detest her for it. He only felt more puppet-like, considering the fact. And how could he sa no to her? This was his future he would be denying-- and he couldn't have that.

"Okay," he merely said, forcing Pansy's face to instantly brighten.

"Okay," Pansy responded, but simply out of excitement. She pulled off her coat and strode over to the mirror, expressing concern at her messy hair. She grabbed for the hair brush and ran it through her dark hair with determination. And watching her from the bed, Malfoy sunk a bit lower, watching the lump the little radio made in the pocket of his dark coat. Thanking the woman mentally for not speaking any more of the subject once he's begged her to let him go, he felt a slight attachment for her. "And now that we're going out... perhaps we should have dinner with your parents sometime soon."

His parents. Draco Malfoy could feel himself completely drain. He hadn't planned that far. But how couldn't he have? What did he think was going to happen? Of course, his parents would be all too thrilled with the idea of Draco Malfoy seeing Pansy. "My parents?" he asked her, watching her face morph in the reflection of the mirror.

"Yeah," Pansy responded, "they'd enjoy such a thing, don't you think?" Of course they would, but currently Draco was being selfish.

However he nodded, ignoring the ill feeling that ran through his veins. "Okay," he said back, one of the only few phrases that he'd found himself muttering as of lately anyways. "Okay, sure."

"Lovely!" Pansy beamed, spinning back around. With her makeup and hair refreshed, she nodded towards the plate in front of her brand new 'boy-friend'- presumably her future husband- and said with a smile, "now eat your steak, darling. That shit's pricey."

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**Vonne: **REVIEW! (:


	16. The Deceased Seven

**Vonne: **Okay, before you read this chapter, know that once the page break comes up, the below part is all a memory. I've also put it in italics. Let me just say now that the second part of this memory is very similar to what happened in "High Hopes Down", my first fiction. If you've already read it, I'm sorry for the repeat, however, I wanted to try and perfect it for myself so I thought I'd add it in here. So hopefully that helps/clears up a lot! Anyways, reviewer responses below. Check to see if you're listed! (Which the majority of you are):

**Dramione1996: **She is! But maybe she'll finally start to feel bad herself sooner or later...

**Thwarted Moony: **College! How exciting. It's alright if you don't find the time to review on every single chapter from now on. I'm just happy that you're still reading this and enjoying all of it! Thanks for the reviews, once again!

**Isabella120: **HA! Thanks! (:

**CherryVanillaCoke16: **Thanks so much! I'm so glad you like this so far! I hope you enjoy this next update, as well!

**Jade2099: **Thanks so much! I'm glad that you find everything to be pretty realistic-- that's such a big compliment. And I think you're right on track with what you've thought about the story. Pansy's not 'evil', she just sees what she wants to see. Most likely that's the reason why she didn't press Malfoy about the whole thing afterwards; it doesn't really matter why he showed up at her house in the middle of the night, because it happened and she's choosing not to press it.

**Shining Bright Eyes: **You know, I was thinking that same thing. I don't know why but I can also see Malfoy being a veg. Oh, and you'll definitely get the "meet the parents" dinner coming up! Anyway, thanks for all your reviews. They really help me to update as fast as possible.

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**Chapter Sixteen:  
The Deceased Seven**

"I remember one time in particular in the backyard..." was the only sound that seemed audible through the cracks in the world that so disrupted the current nature. As the sky bolted around him, churning chaotically, Draco Malfoy spoke only into the speakers of the tiny plastic radio.

He was on his back, sprawled out against the dewy grass, staring up at the sky. There was a storm coming, such a thing was undoubtable, but Draco did not plan on moving. In fact, he further welcomed the storm, anticipating the works. As the bits of ample rain began to fall, he didn't even bother wincing; instead, his focus was on the toy, on the female voice as the other end, who only breathed in little breaths.

He knew this day was coming, and he knew that it was inevitable. Though even the moments leading up to the moment had gone by almost completely unnoticed. In a fuzzy state of mind, Draco had stumbled from Pansy's house, hit the bar, and ascended up to his bedroom without brining much attention to himself. It had been raining all day, or at least he'd presumed for it to have been, and as the day drew on, he watched the light fade, drawing each passing second into the darkness of the night. The very moment that blackness captivated the world, Draco Malfoy took off. He grabbed his coat and stuffed the Muggle radio into his pocket. The Manor was absolutely silent as Malfoy evacuated from it; his father's shadow, reluctantly showing Lucius asleep on the single cushion sofa, was illuminated against the wall, the fireplace lighting up his long fit of blond hair.

Dodging the rain, Malfoy pulled himself through his backyard, more quickly than he'd made his way through the rest of the house, and found the same familiar clearing that he'd known forever. Then, making himself comfortable in the slight sprinkle, he found his back and pressed it up to the wet grass, letting his legs go limp as they touched the ground along with the rest of his body. The pond ahead of him bounced up with every drop of rain that splashed its surface and he didn't dare approach it, worried about the glimpse of his own reflection he might see within it. His lip was still split and open, and his eye was still bruised and puffy. Lying there peacefully, he'd only just gained rest from limping on his aching leg. But, despite everything, he was spilling out his memories through the illness in his nauseated stomach. Sick and tired and delusional, he couldn't quite help himself.

And all the while the storm above intensified. "It was sometime in October, but I was home from school. I still don't even know who'd asked for my release, but... either way, I was back." Each croaky detail hoarsely escaped his throat, but he was so far under, that he couldn't quite comprehend even his darkest admissions. Slightly tipsy from the alcohol he'd consumed in order to prepare himself for the night, he continued sorely, all the while staring back up at the darkening clouds.

"I'd come home and they'd killed seven people..."

* * *

Five Years Earlier:  
The Malfoy Manor

_Somewhere in the darkness, Draco Malfoy knew that there was a door. It was strange how foreign his own home was to him now, but standing there speechless he knew that he had to feign confidence. It was sometime in the night, but Malfoy was unsure as to what time, perhaps early morning. Then again, time didn't matter now- time wasn't important. What was important was the darkness and the door and, exclusively, what lied behind it. With his father in the depths someplace behind him, Malfoy held his breath and prepared for the worse. But Draco's uneasiness was doubled when Lucius Malfoy's hand tightened on his son's shoulder. "Now, hold on a moment, Draco."_

_Freezing, Draco's feet stopped moving. Tense wasn't especially the word to describe the way he felt, because such a feeling went far beyond 'tense'. He was shaking and nauseous and ill. Whatever it was that Voldemort had called him from Hogwarts for, he knew that it was not particularly good. But with Snape as the new headmaster, getting out of the school grounds came easily. Though, even having friends in high places didn't do anything to calm his nerves. His father's hand remained steady on top of Draco's suit shoulder, but even through the fabric, he could tell that his father's palms were clammy. Flipping restlessly, Draco's heart plummeted-- it was such an awful feeling to loose what he'd once considered to be his role model. But such a thing had gone long ago, and now his father was only a stoney figure in his otherwise morose outlook. _

_"Stand up straight," Lucius advised, pausing before the two large kissing doors. Draco stiffened, squaring out his shoulders while meekly biting his lower lip. His mind had run off in a blur-- since when did the Malfoys become so self conscious in their own home? Pathetically, Draco tried to remember something of a peaceful time in the home-- a place he know only viewed as a simple building-- but came out with not a single memory to lift his spirits. "And, please, try to keep your tone in check. We don't want to have you sounding disrespectful."_

_Malfoy swallowed the persisting large lump in the middle of his throat. Truth be told, Malfoy had been nothing but respectful to Voldemort, however, he knew the specific tone that his father was speaking about. On more than one occasion Malfoy had slipped, allowing himself to sound horrified in Voldemort's presence. However, such a tone proved all but acceptable. Furthermore, Draco took a mental note: listen to your father, monitor your voice. "And, look him in the eye, if you can," Lucius added, slightly weary of his last bit of advise, "The Dark Lord notices these things, Draco." Look Lord Voldemort in the eye. For one reason or another, this horrified Malfoy most of all, though he shook the worry away and nodded, keeping his eyes straight forward. "Good," Lucius praised quickly, his voice shaky and worrisome. "Come along."_

_Draco felt his father's hand slip from his shoulder and once again Malfoy was on his own. He strode forward and allowed the two large doors to open on their own, revealing his old home to him for the first time in one whole month. It was quite obvious that the Death Eaters had redecorated. White curtains hung, sheer like and torn, from the large windows that overlooked the entire house. As the slight wind rushed through the open glass, they flew out like phantom. The house was haunting, and on a large dressers that lined the hallway, vases had been tipped over on their sides, leaving traces of its shattered glass, like broken skin, on the surface. Almost every picture had been broken, the shiny frame split into two and a massive crack had split the whole thing down the middle. _

_In the corner of the room, the largely beefy shadow that was Peter Pettigrew lunged out from the darkness. He was even more grotesque than Malfoy had remembered and as he spoke his breath reeked of liquor and dirt. "Ah, Draco," he slurred, "how nice of you to come back. Lord knows we've been anxious to see your face again." His hands were brought up to his heaving chest in a prayer-like manner and the slightly dusty quality about his face signified that he was up to nothing good. From Draco's side vision he saw no trace of his father and as he focus shifted to the broken mirror, his suspicions were further confirmed; he'd been left utterly alone. Therefore, Malfoy avoided Pettigrew's eyes and watched nothing but the looming hallway ahead of him. Everything seemed to lean in towards him; the furniture and the windows and the walls. As he stumbled through the corridors of his own house, he could feel his anxiety ridden heart beating inside his chest. The broken chandelier above him only blinked with the havering candle light, the only amount of light even bothering to grace the Manor at all. _

And finally, when the two massive doors stood in front of him, Malfoy could feel his entire posture falter. He shut his eyes, repeated several breaths over again, and recited his father's advise in his head. Standing up straight was proving to be more of a task than he'd originally suspected, however, sighing, he readjusted himself with fake conviction. His shaky hands lifted slightly to fix his tie, aiming to present himself properly. And, lifting his arms once again, he pushed them to the front of the doors, grazed its great surface and told himself that there was nothing to fear. Though not he his own words could convince himself. He instantly backtracked, pulling his arm back with such force that he almost stumbled over in the process. However, in an instant, a jet of bright light flew to his assistance; the moment the spell hit the doors they flew open, practically knocking all Draco's readjustment efforts out of place.

_"How nice of you to join us," came the sarcastic tone of Augustus Rookwood in the lack of light. A chorus of anxious laughter erupted before him and then, once again, the doors swung shut behind him. In the blackness Draco could feel a rush of cold inch up his spine. A heavy and murky scent overtook his old dining room completely, undoubtable and obvious. And there was no ignoring the smell, one that Draco would never quite forget. As he managed to pull himself forward, a sickening tidal wave washed through his insides and his anxiety was all that was keeping him from doubling over and getting sick all over the marble floor._

_"Now, Rookwood," the voice of a snake hissed, "play nice." There was nothing but the glowing vision of two snake-like eyes and Draco told himself to look directly into them. But even as the most minute moments passed Draco knew that he couldn't possibly. Voldemort's pupils, however, were locked so intensely into Draco's that Malfoy could feel a piece of him missing, and he felt the consistent feeling that his very soul was being analyzed. But as the silence consumed the room, Voldemort finally permitted himself to speak out loud. "What Rookwood says is true, Draco," he slithered, "we have been anxiously waiting your arrival."_

_Too bad Draco couldn't wait to get out of there. But he didn't let this show quite as obviously as he'd felt. Despite the quiver in his chest, he lifted the corners of his thin lips into a timid smile, nodding as if to pass off as desiring the very same. "You see, Draco," Voldemort continued, "we needed you. We needed your assistance." If the color could have drained any further from Draco's face, it had doubled. He was as pale as a ghost and he could feel his false confidence melting. Then, in a more harsh and direct tone, Voldemort's head turned, "Pettigrew," he called bitterly with a flood of significant resentment, "lights."_

_The lights above the group of them flickered ahead and the dining room slowly came into view, though once the candle lights had managed to flicker aflame, Draco instantly wished they hadn't. The group before Draco lay silent, as if waiting for a response. But all Draco could feel was the jab of pins and needles creep up his entire body. Numb with dizziness all Draco Malfoy wanted was to be back at school, out of his house, out of the watching eye of Voldemort. But such a desire was only a wish, a wish that could not-- would not-- be granted. _

_The smell that tainted the dining room was instantly given a face. _

_Lining the entire room, the shadowy exterior of rotting bodies had been strung out through the entire room. Draco counted them-- seven. Seven stone like and still human beings lay as stiff and as lifeless as if they'd been that way for years. Malfoy could feel the water well up in his eyes, the persisting sense of nausea creep up inside of him. It was as if everything else in the room had vanished, everything expect the bodies that were almost unrecognizably disfigured. Mangled and twisted, each corpse was wrapped around itself, bitterly and irresponsibly. A maroon pool of dried up blood lay underneath each broken skull and all the while, Voldemort seemed rather unfazed._

_"Seems like I had a bit of a mishap," Rookwood beamed, eyeing the bodies over for the first time. His smile was sparkling and proud and he looked up at Voldemort, expecting praise that did not come. Without any reassurance or acknowledgement however, Rookwood only glanced back towards Malfoy, permitted himself to keep his smile present, and titled his head to the side. As he did so, the greasy mop of hair on his head rushed over the upper part of his face, and a deep gash in the side of his forehead was brought ever so subtly into the light._

_"Don't flatter yourself," Draco heard his aunt's bitter voice react. "They're only Muggles." Her curvaceously delightful figure stood out dauntingly. At the sound of Bellatrix's voice Draco's mindset snapped back to reality. He winced, once again finding himself in the middle of the room. _

_Once again the room spun around on him, tiny hypothetical violins plunking mercilessly in the back of his mind. He could feel his posture sink, unwillingly going against the first of his father's advise. He could feel his throat run dry, nonetheless permitting himself to disobeying the second. Though he couldn't speak, couldn't even imagine such a thing. And why? In his time with the Death Eaters he seen numerous dead bodies before, however, as each time came and went, it never had got any easier. And now... now seven. Seven dead corpses, new and fresh and waiting there before him, dead and gone forever. Muggles or not, the newly sensitive mindset that had so often bothered Draco was beginning to make him swoon; he could no longer feel his knees and, shaky on his own two feet, he struggled to even approach the rotting Wizard any further. _

_"Now, Draco," Voldemort once again mused, watching Draco's posture slide with every passing moment, "you wouldn't mind assisting out your family, would you? After all, we are all your family, are we not?" _

_Malfoy's eyes flickered around the room. His father wasn't anywhere in sight... his mother was gone. And Bellatrix in the corner there, she wasn't his family. Horrified, Draco knew that no one in the entire house could be considered as such, not in his mind, but saying so would only prove unsuccessful. Instead he swallowed the emerging bile that rose in the depths of his throat. He tried to stifle the intense stomach acid that tormented him. And he managed to nod slightly, a new redness climbing up to his glossy eyes. "Wonderful," Voldemort exclaimed with a slither, "I thought so. Now," he continued demandingly, "as you can see, this room may need a little tidying up." Like a pet, Rookwood chuckled at Voldemort's side; Bellatrix's globe-like eyes swam with overwhelming excitement. "Would you like to do the honors?"_

_Draco could feel himself loosing it; his vision went slightly blurry and his knees were weak and unstable. However, the open scars that tainted his body provided enough of a reminder as to what had happened the last time Draco hadn't quite carried out Voldemort's last wishes. Of course, the Dark Lord had not been quite fond of any of the Malfoy's ever since Draco was unable to murder his headmaster, Dumbledore. And as the open gashes on Draco's torso intensified, how could he possibly refuse? _

_"I...I..." he could vaguely hear himself stammer, thus instantly breaking his father's rule of a steady tone of voice, "I..."_

_"Y-Y-Y-You..." Rookwood taunted, leaning forward on his hands and knees. Then, with a tone that was more serious than he had been the whole night, he spat, "just like your damn father!" But Draco couldn't even take that as an insult-- didn't even hear Rookwood over the morphing sounds that his ears now only heard. _

_"All's well, Rookwood," Voldemort dismissed, "I think he's just too excited for words." The hovering smile that was imprinted on Volemort's rotting face was terrifying and his yellow eyes locked into Malfoy with such scrutiny that he could feel them reach the very core of him. "Now, we'll leave Draco here to his work, hm?" Then, before he apparated out of sight compltely, he turned to the mousy Peter in the corner and snapped, "Pettigrew! Keep an eye on him for a while." In an instant they were gone, having left Malfoy alone with Peter, who allowed his own smile to once again creep up on his fat face._

_"Looks like you've got some work to do," Pettigrew smiled. With full intention to please the man, Draco stuck his jello-like foot forwards, allowing his polished black shoe to hit the marble floor uneasily. But the smell was undeniable and each of the seven bodies seemed to cry out to him from their deaths, crying and moaning and suffering. And the buzzing sensation that interrupted Draco's already wandering thoughts amplified. He could almost physically hear their anguish, their torture, their pain even in their miserable afterlife. Only Muggles... only Muggles and it didn't make an ounce of a difference to Malfoy now. So he couldn't bring himself forward, couldn't even manage to disguise the flush that consumed his pale face. _

_Pettigrew's face twitched, noticing the boy's sudden anxiety. His eyes shifted back and forth, and his small mouth called out furiously in a whipping whisper, "what are you waiting for?" Peter could feel the rising tension in his own chest and the heat striving in his own throbbing head, severely worried now. Though he wasn't given much time to react to any of Malfoy's dreary state; the young blond lost his balance, though it was a long shot to say he'd been moving anywhere productive in the first place, and his entire body fell to the ground in broken up sections. First his knees slapped the marble and then his entire front, colliding to the hard ground at the top of his head. _

_And Draco Malfoy was out completely cold before the fresh trail of blood oozed out from the crown of his skull. _

_

* * *

_

Hermione Granger remained rather still and, for a moment, so did Draco Malfoy. She had lost contact with the radio quite some time ago and had pursued listening to it from several inches away, as if it had scorned her just by merely touching it. She herself had gone completely numb and shaky she resided uneasily in her silence, still pitifully unsure as to what to say next. The storm outside raged on harshly, hitting the roof of her house like heavy hail. In the depths of the safety of her bedroom, she could just barely hear the snores that echoed from Ron's room. And she was sure Harry had fallen asleep too, though even now their consciousness didn't truly matter to her. Even with them awake she wouldn't have noticed; all she could sense now was herself and the radio, in unison despite her loathing for the boy on the other end.

And, all in all, she had every right in the world to loathe him. So then, why did she feel the undeniable pity that seemed to so overwhelm her? She was sore beyond belief with the very notion of it-- throbbing with sorrow and anxiety and morose pity. Pity that almost physically made her sick. Because the boy on the other end didn't deserve her pity... didn't deserve anything of the sort. So, biting her sultry lower lip, she shifted steadily and responded with only silence. However, such anger lasted only temporarily. Her shaky voice said demandingly, "and then?" and she waited bitterly for a further answer.

"... And then I woke up."

She waited for something, anything, but the boy did not continue. Though his own self pity was unmistakable, common for someone so undoubtedly miserable. His voice ached of pain. Every time he spoke his words were spoiled with sorrow. And now in his humiliated and sorrowful silence seemed to dwell relentlessly on him. She could hear him cough slightly through the static drenched sound of the speakers. ".... You... woke up?" Hermione repeated, almost yelling hoarsely from across the room.

On his back in the storm, Draco blinked away the rain that had washed over his face. The storm was finally starting to swell up and it was pouring down in an absolute mess. His blond hair was plastered to his pale face and his eyes watched the clouds as they illuminated bright with lightening. Perhaps it wasn't too intelligent to be near a pond in this sort of a storm, but at this point Draco didn't truly care... wouldn't have truly cared in the bolts came falling from the sky and hit him square in the heart. And perhaps it was self pity that digressed his only chances of progress, but didn't he have every right in the world to feel that way? Didn't he deserve something... anything? The sinking notion in the pit of his stomach told him that, no, he didn't deserve an ounce of it. And it was that very thought that further discouraged him. He could have died, died for a cause, but he didn't. Instead he chose to remain a robot, hazily dazed throughout the entire ordeal and the same thing tortured him over and over again: he didn't do anything.

Over the harsh rush of the rain, over the tantalizing whirl of the echoing thunder, Draco Malfoy repeated in a frog like croak, "and then I woke up..."

* * *

_The notion of being rocked back and forth brought instant perspective to Malfoy's otherwise dizzy fog. His shut eyes pried open, first flakily before bringing his eyesight to normal view. However, where he was was outside, perched up against the trunk of a tree, and the tip of Peter's wand was perched on the center bridge of his nose. His heart skipped a beat and he jerked his slouchy head up in to a proper position. However, Pettigrew was just as alert, despite being absolutely drenched in his own pool of perspiration. His eyes moved back and forth with anguish of his own and his mouth was slightly left open, so that he could permit himself to breathe more freely. He looked tired from having carried Draco outside the Manor and to the forest clearing, but heaving Draco's body across the earth was not the only duty that he'd done; the seven bodies had been laid out before the two of them, dirty and twisted and rotting._

_"Get up," Pettigrew commanded with a hovering tone, because he was fearful himself. He'd snuck Draco out of the house, managing to slink past the others without having been noticed. However, even Peter knew that luck had never graced him for too long of a time. So, therefore, he was running low on time. His stern hand remained pointed directly in front of Draco's face, making him cross eyed in the midsts of his person delusion. "Get up!" he shouted once again, terror mounting in the bottom of his own aching throat. _

_But Draco couldn't even manage to do so himself. His knees were still weak and useless and as he attempted to oblige Pettigrew, his palms slipped against the wooden tree trunk and he once again lost his balance, colliding with the chest of Peter, who pushed him off furiously. "Get the fuck up!" Peter roared, his nerves just about crushing him. Overall, he looked as if he himself was about to melt; his skin appeared glossy and oily, his own receding head of hair was plastered to his puffy face. His mouse-like eyes shook with every passing second and he looked as if he could both murder and shake Draco at that very moment. However, even Malfoy knew that the pathetic man was looking out for his own well being. Pettigrew had a job to do and that was to keep a watch on Draco. And so far he wasn't doing too brilliantly. _

_Tired over the furiously passing time, Pete bent down, wrapped his pudgy fingers around the sweaty collar of Draco's nice suit, and hurdled him to a standpoint. "You've got a job to do," Peter growled, nodding towards the deceased seven. "And I'm not going to pay for you being a coward!" As chilly as it was outside, each moment that staggered on between them seemed to send Peter into more and more of a heated state; his pulse doubled and the sweat seemed to tumble down his front. He breathed as if he'd run miles and he held his wand out threateningly, aiming to put an end to the young Malfoy once and for all. _

_But the tears were finally sliding down Draco's own visage and he stumbled forward, bending down low to grab his quivering knees. Though chocking heaves of his own, he coughed out desperately, "I... I c-can't," and Peter's fury only seemed to widen. _

_He laughed desperately, nervous tears beginning to swell up in his own eyes. He was horrified for himself, tragically fearing his own pathetic life. He was, after all, in risk of loosing it very soon anyways; Voldemort had not been too happy with him. And he would not let this stupid kid ruin his chances of an enjoyable existence. He lunged forward further, once again seizing Draco by his suit's tie. The grip of his hands at Draco's neck tightened and Malfoy felt himself loose quite a significant amount of air. But Voldemort had taken his wand and Malfoy had been helpless beyond comprehension. However, even with one, Malfoy figured he wasn't much help to himself with it to begin with. "You need to learn to do what you are told!" Pettigrew roared, a petty twitch taking over his face._

_Though something new push its way through the trees; a shadow that had passed by otherwise unseen. The looming figure was dark in exterior, but the presence that it illuminated was just as cunning and terrifying. Though the lingering outline of the man only stood still for a short while. Acting fast he pulled out his own thin wand, pointing it at Pettigrew and shouting, "Expelliarmus!" over the heavy wind. And in an instant Pettigrew's grip around Malfoy's collar loosened and Malfoy was dropped to the ground, his own hands touching his neck. In shock Peter revved backwards, eyes wide and even more terrified. His gasp was hoarse and rushed and he dove forward, covering himself from any oncoming spell that he presumed to be harmful._

_"Don't kill me!" he shouted, squealing._

_But the figure in the back only laughed sarcastically. He strode forward, the flowing cloth of his dark robes streaming out behind him in the curling wind. Malfoy, however, was oblivious to this; as he sat curled up on the floor, his mind was faltering briefly. And all the while he tried only not to lock eyes with the bodies before him, tried to remain huddled in his own little ball. "I'm not going to kill you, you pathetic rodent," the man bellowed and Draco's throbbing head arched up, finally facing the figure dead on. _

_Severus Snape had never looked so angry. _

_"But I will be more than happy to make your bones catch on fire."_

_"NO!" Peter cried out miserably, "for the love of God, Severus!" He had pressed his palms over his head, ready for Snape to blatantly ignore his pleading. However, when no such spell came, his loud heaving breaths died down. He inched forward, eyes searching for his discarded wand, and when he found it, he crawled for it sheepishly, a dog with its tail between its legs. "H-he w-was give a t-task," he informed Snape accusingly, "and w-was bluntly refusing t-to--"_

_Snape cut him off loudly, "I'll take care of Draco, Pettigrew," he stated, allowing Peter to retrieve his wand and stumble to a steady stance himself. "Go back to the Manor. Inform the Dark Lord that all is under control." Peter hesitated, his eyes wandering from Snape to Draco. When he found the blond boy on the floor his face fell to that of detest, but Snape cleared his throat, forcing Peter's attention back on him directly. "Now!" he demanded, harsh and loud and his command seemed to work. Obligingly, Peter scampered to his feel, tripping over himself as he clamored from the spot completely. And then, when he finally managed to stumble to a standpoint, he vanished completely, allowing only the sinking vision of his shadow to linger on any further._

_However, Snape's mercy didn't last much longer. He forced himself forward, peering down at Draco with a newfound rush of his own. "Get up," he commanded again._

_Draco, shaky and ill, said only, "I c-can't," and his moan seemed floppy even in the uptake of the wind. _

_Snape rolled his eyes, bending down forward only so that Malfoy could more clearly hear his stern voice. "Get," he said slowly, "up." But Draco only shook his head back and forth, unwilling to oblige for the first actual time that night. Snape, on the other hand, was more than willing to make Draco oblige. He reached forward and did as Peter had; grabbing forward to wrap his own slender and boney fingers around Draco's tie. As he lifted him up from the ground, Draco yelped anxiously, feeling the loss of breath once more. _

_There was not any anger behind Snape's gaze. He was fearful and determined despite his rush and hurry. His cold eyes narrowed down on Draco, heaving him to one side and nodding towards the seven bodies. Then he lifted his wand, waved it around in a quick circle, and from the darkness a silvery shovel rose in the distance, whipping off of the side of the tree trunk in a fast motion. The shovel hurdled towards Draco's heaving chest and he caught it dumbfounded, his eyes wide and newly watching Snape. "I can't do it," Malfoy once again repeating, standing still against the neck of the shovel, using it as his only true method of support. "I'm not doing it."_

_"Draco," Snape snapped, "you're wasting too much time complaining." _

_But all Draco could see was the string of rotting corpses and he could feel the oncoming bile. Holding the sick at the top of his throat, he could only manage to shake his head. "I'm not asking you, Draco." Snape responded, slightly pitiful. However, this feeling was heavily overshadowed by the urgency that tainted his entire voice. "This isn't your choice," he stated, watching Draco watch the seven bodies before him. "Now start digging." _

_But Draco knew exactly what Severus Snape meant. With a horrified and morose nod he gripped the handle, swallowed hard, and struck the cold, hard ground._

_

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**Vonne: **Review! _


	17. A Little Bit of Wine and far too Much Di

**Vonne:** Okay, well I was hoping to get straight to chapter seventeen! :) So, check below if I've answered your questions and then, here it is (a little late, sorry), chapter seventeen.

**Isabella120: **Thank you so much! I love hearing that my work is well written. It's the best compliment I can imagine. Thanks again!

**Doni: **Draco actually told Hermione the whole bulk of it. Sorry if that was confusing. I didn't want to make the whole thing a conversation, only because I feel it distracted away from what actually happened. But good question, though. Sorry I confused you a little. HA

**Crimson-diamonds-823: **AH! :)

**Shining Bright Eyes: **I love adding Snape into everything as much as I possibly can. I always have felt that he was so important to Malfoy all his life. Thanks for all the consistent reviews!

**Jade2099: **Thanks! I think you're absolutely right about the whole "I'm better" side that Hermione's feeling right now, because she did win the whole war, after all. And, about your concern with Draco and Pansy, of course I'll make it right sooner or later- HAH. But doesn't it always have to get worse before it gets better?

Alright. That was pretty much everyone from the last chapter! So, I'll just get started then...

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**Chapter Seventeen:  
A Little Bit of Wine and far too Much Dine**

When Draco Malfoy had casually informed his parents that he was now seeing Pansy Parkinson, he was sure it was the first time in a long time that he'd actually seen his mother truly smile. He was standing in the doorframe of their massive bedroom that particular afternoon after taking Pansy's advise and using her concealer to cover up the majority of his facial bruises. Against the wall nearest him, he'd managed to pass himself off as merely leaning against it, rather than relying on it for full support. Narcissa hadn't taken much notice or, if she had, was doing quite the job towards not showing it. She sat at her vanity, prying a rather elegant earring in her ear and every so once in a while she let her eyes flicker over to her son in the mirror's glossy reflection.

"Draco," she said with a beaming smile that may have been considered graceful were it to be scrutinized by someone too ignorant to read between the lines, "you sure you don't want to come out tonight with your father and I? It's a lovely restaurant; they've got age old wines I'm sure you'd love." Malfoy tilted his head ever so slightly; in her own way Narcissia Malfoy was an enabler to her son. Unbeknown to her, she'd okayed Malfoy for the once in a blue moon consumption of fine wine in the presence of Lucius and herself. Though that freedom-- that permission had, quite frankly, opened quite a few doors to Malfoy in the long run. And because at first he'd never quite liked the taste of hard liquor, he'd spent all his spare time learning to "acquire the taste".

Nonetheless, he swallowed the burning desire to take his mother up on the offer (and perhaps smuggle a bit more of the drink out of the restaurant afterwards), and shook his head with polite intention. "Thanks," he stated timidly, "but I'm rather tired tonight, mother. I wouldn't be much fun to have around, I can assure you."

Narcissa pouted. In a little moaning voice, she said, "don't be silly, Draco." She slightly shifted in her little stool, once again taking to watching him in the reflection of the mirror. Her smile had faded and she looked completely morose; the bags underneath her eyes slightly more obvious. Her tone of voice was soft, yet hard at the same time, as if she'd taken strong offense in her son's comment. She froze somewhere between trying to find the small hole in her ear and untangling the silvery-blonde lock of it that was wrapped around the diamond earring. "You know I always enjoy your presence."

A hot flush rushed over Draco's otherwise pale face. Having felt instantly sorry for offending his mother, he dropped his eyes, relaxed himself slightly. For one reason or another, he felt bad about covering up the gashes on his face. Though he only pulled himself forward a tiny bit, just slightly away from the doorframe, and said sincerely, "I'm just not feeling well tonight---"

"Oh, Draco," Narcissa quipped, sliding fast off of the stool and striding over towards Malfoy hurriedly. She had completely forgotten about the earring in general. "Are you ill?"

"No!" Malfoy almost blurted out to quickly. His mother stopped almost too suddenly and turned her head to one side, examining him further. A mixture of confusion and uneasiness overtook her instantly. "No," Draco recovered, more meek and quite than before, "just a stomach bug, I'm sure... I... I'll make it up to you and father, okay?" Instantly Narcissa's face fell; she wasn't exactly saddened as she was worried. Either way she paused, letting her brow raise slightly in inquiry. A red blush of her own faltered over her visage and she bit her lip, unsure about being paid back by her son in the first place. But Draco caught on instantly, feeling a bit anxious to lift up her spirits. "I was hoping I could prepare a dinner for the two of you and---"

Draco's glamourous mother practically fell over her feet prematurely. She let her eyes widen and the corners of her thin mouth lifted up ever so slightly. "And!" she repeated anxiously.

"And," Draco quipped, "a friend."

"A girl?"

Malfoy swallowed hard for the second consecutive time in the evening. Still leaning rather suspiciously against the doorframe, he figured his mother was far too excited at this time to notice any hint of his discomfort. And he was right; Narcissa was practically glowing, excitement mounting on her fast. Watching her raise her tiny hands up to her chest in a prayer-like manner, Malfoy slowly nodded back as his only response. "Oh, Draco!" Narcissa mused once again, this time waltzing forward toward her son with outstretched arms. "A girl! I knew it! I knew you'd find someone to share your life with one day!"

The blond boy faked a smile. However his mother's eyes were just about spilling over with tears of her own. She had embraced him tightly, her hands around his boney and sore shoulders. "Yeah, mum," Draco choked miserably. He could not help but feel happy about his mother's happiness, however, though he wished that it wasn't such deliverance of such silly news to make her appear so. "You actually know her, already. I-It's P-Pansy." Once he'd finished, Narcissa tightened her arms around his waist once more, just about doubling her initial hug. Her smile broadened. When she pulled away from her hug, she looked directly into his eyes, looking as if she hadn't spent all that time preparing herself for a night out previously; her makeup was now newly smeared and runny. But she didn't seem to care.

For the third time in the night, Narcissa repeated, "oh, Draco!" but it seemed she couldn't help herself. She seemed to have completely forgotten all about the dinner plans she'd had for the night. In fact, she only seemed to be focused on her son, who she scrutinized with admirable affliction. There was no sorrow in her stare and she looked as if she'd never even expirenced the tragic experiment that was the therapist's office. Her fingers lifted up from Draco's shoulders and he watched her lift them to wipe his blond hair from his face. For a moment he worried that she'd wipe away Pansy's makeup work, but found that, even if that were the case, she wouldn't have even been alert enough to notice.

It was a significant moment; one that Draco had thought he'd been waiting for for quite some time. His mother was, for once in a long time, truly proud of her son. Her elegantly blue eyes that swam with tears scanned his face and she inhaled deeply. And Draco's assumptions were right; as of currently, Narcissa Malfoy had wiped her memory of all the hidden disappointment as of late. Because her thoughts were clarified; everything that she had been hoping for had been, in that very moment, reassured. Her son was not, as she been so often told, miserable and depressed. He was, after all, making his efforts. He was going to be alright and okay and this was just the first step.

Touching the tip of Draco's chin, Narcissa nodded. There was a slight twinkle in her anxious eyes and she had allowed her smile to slightly shrink. "That would be wonderful, Draco," she finished off, nodding with shy excitement. Then, as the moments seemed to pass on slowly, she sighed, backed away and stood up to her normal stance of posture perfection. "Ah," she breathed with only a slightly more calm exterior, "I can't wait to inform your father. He will be so... _proud."_

And with the ending of that very sentence Malfoy could just about feel the beginning of his new life sound off. Like a race he'd only just begun, he could feel himself hypothetically taking the very first steps. A thunderous drum rattled through his ears. This was supposed to be a good thing-- no, supposed to be a great thing. So, then, why didn't Draco feel any differently?

But that was then and, currently, Draco was trying not to look to heavily back at the past. In fact, as he stood with Pansy at the doorframe to his house, he decided that analyzing such a thing was not the best for him anyway. Because what use was it to regret events that have already occurred? Nonetheless, however, he couldn't help thinking back to the radio, to the woman on the other end. What must she think of him now, after he'd told her only a fraction of his life over the past several years? Their conversation hadn't even really quite ended; Malfoy had finished and when he'd stopped talking she'd excused herself politely. But he had done the same in the very instant she'd returned, leaving her to do God knows what, and taking the time personally to sit in the darkness for himself.

Pansy seemed to take notice to her new boyfriend's wandering mind. She turned slightly on her heels, lifted her arms to fix his tie, and brushed off the nonexistent dust that tainted the shoulder of his dark suit. "All ready, Draco?" she asked with a radiant smile. In all honesty, Pansy's question was quite the stupid one. Of course he wasn't 'ready' but did that really matter at this point, anyway? Surely she didn't think that there was any turning back now, did she? Because even Draco was sure that she wasn't that ignorant. Either way, she seemed to accept this, basking in the glory to have gotten to this point anyway. Blinking slightly, Draco pulled off what looked like a convincing nod and Pansy took it, instantly convinced. With that, she spun back to the massive doors and lifted her hand in a fist to knock.

Of course Pansy looked radiant. She was dressed in emerald green, no doubt done so purposely in an attempt to impress Draco's parents with her Slytherin colors, and her short hair was pulled back just slightly in front with a feather clip that looked slightly like a peacock. Her lips, which were covered in a bright red lipstick, gave her the impression as if she'd just sucked the blood out of some poor bastard. Gulping, Draco Malfoy sincerely hoped that he wasn't the poor bastard.

"Oh!" Pansy said, glancing slightly over her shoulder, "I hear footsteps."

Just as she stated so, the front doors pulled open and Narcissa Malfoy stood in the hallway, a brand new smile plastered across her face. "Pansy!" she mused, reaching her hands out to grab the pretty woman under her pointed chin. "As always, you look gorgeous. Lucius is in the dinning room. Shall we?" Without a moment's waste, Narcissa slipped her fingers into Draco's a squeezed his palm slightly. As she watched Pansy stroll in to the living room ahead of the two of them, she leaned forward, whispering slightly into her son's ear, "Draco, Lucius... he was so thrilled when I told him."

And Narcissa hadn't been lying. The moment Draco had entered the room, he'd taken instant notice to his father's posture. Thoug Lucius Malfoy was always seated straight, he now did so with proud expression. And he also looked radiant for himself; his face graced with a grin that was true and honest. When his son and Pansy entered the room he stood up and spread his arms out in welcoming. "Why, Pansy!" he beamed without showing his teeth, "how nice it is to have you back in our home once again."

"And how nice it is for you to have me," Pansy responded back with a cocky pride that Draco thought Pansy carried around with her constantly. "I must say that every visit here is truly an eventful one. The house looks lovely."

Narcissa practically gleamed. She motioned for Pansy to take a seat and she did so, next to Draco, who sat in the middle of his mother and Pansy. With Lucius at the head of the table, he took to staring at his lab in an uneasy silence. He never felt more uncomfortable with small talk, and so he took to sitting timidly within it. Pansy, however, seemed to lavish in it as much as his parents. And neither of the three seemed to take notice in his silence; as both his mother and his father attended to Pansy, Draco found himself unusual happy that he wasn't the center of their conversation, however droll it was turning out to be.

Pansy had grabbed for the wine, in a delicate way that meant she probably didn't drink much often. She had carried on quite the conversationusing her hands to demonstrate whatever it was she was trying to say and every so once in a while she'd look over at Draco, reference him for a moment, and smooth back her dark hair. And his parents seemed to eat it all up- not that it was an act, nonetheless, Pansy was, in her own way, having quite the time. With an elegant smile and a twinkle behind her lovely eyes, Draco knew that he should be having a good time...

"And so there we were, seated in my backyard. Draco made me sweetbread." Pansy gleamed. She turned back to Draco. Her smile wide and stretched out. Draco didn't know how long they'd been talking for, had spaced out during the majority of it. Truth of the matter was that he hadn't been thinking about picnics or Pansy or sweetbread; his mind was slightly more focused on the radio. Having left it in his room upstairs, stuffed anxiously underneath his pillow, he couldn't help but feel a little bit empty without it.

Lucius lifted an eyebrow, frankly admirably shocked, and his mother turned towards her son. Her smile matched Pansy's and for some reason their matching visuals disturbed him. "Oh, Draco," Narcissa bemused, "I didn't know you could bake."

"I didn't know you two were even seeing one another," Lucius cut in. He peered over his wine glass and when he spoke, his eyes were locked directly into Draco's. Malfoy went stiff. Sure, he probably should have informed his father of his affairs earlier, but, what was the use crying over spilt milk?

Shrugging, Malfoy managed to chuckle, "was sort of a shock to us all..." though Pansy slapped him lightly across his sore forearm. She'd must have forgotten that his body wasn't exactly feeling well.

"A lovely surprise," she interjected, and Lucius nodded, only slightly convinced.

"And," Lucius continued, poking around at his food, "if you don't mind me asking, how exactly did this happen?"

Pansy seemed all too eager to answer the question. Smiling excitedly, she leaned forward in her stool and flashed Malfoy's family with a pretty set of glowing teeth. "Well," she said and she shifted loosely in her seat, "Draco showed up in the middle of the night. Mind you, he was absolutely---"

"--- was absolutely overwhelmed... with... determination," Draco interrupted, a look of sudden suffering alert in his eyes. "Yes, I was truly determined to... tell Pansy how I felt." Momentarily, Pansy seemed hurt having been cut off. But she leaned back, bit her lip, and stared at the blond with sheer confusion. But Malfoy only had one thing in mind and that was to cover his tracks. How could Pansy be so eager to blurt out the details of the night, anyways? Was she about to tell his parents, who had absolutely no idea of Draco's current condition, that he'd shown up covered in blood and bruises? And surely she wasn't about to describe the night any longer. The thought of such openness chilled Draco and, leaning forward on his own, he looked his father in the eye, squared his jaw, and stated in a lawyer-like tone, "I've always had feelings for Pansy."

Lucius stared back at his son. In his hands his fingers were wrapped around the bulk of his wine glass. The staring contest between father and son was in full swing, though Pansy had taken to staring at her lap now, and Narcissa seemed to be oblivious to it all. She smiled, pushing her white blonde hair back behind her ears, and seemed to rather enjoy what seemed like an admission of love from her one and only son.

But as his father kept his gaze ongoing, Draco could feel his nerves start to pick up-- if such a thing were utterly possible. His forehead was in risk of breaking out in a cold sweat. But then, quickly as it had come, Lucius let his gaze drop. He raised his glass in his own personal toast, and said, "Draco's always been privy to knowing exactly what he wants." Before he granted himself to take another sip, he added, "it's a good quality."

And Draco felt himself fall back into his seat. Somewhere over the beat of his heart pounding in his chest, he heard his mother continue, "yes, one of many fantastic qualities," and Pansy grabbed his quivering knee. She pushed down on it when she noticed he'd been bobbing his feet up and down underneath the massive dinner table.

"Yes," Pansy cut in, feeling most comfortable in the spotlight, "Draco is wonderful, isn't he?" She gave the family time to take her statement in, but no one was paying much attention to her. Lucius had been watching Malfoy for quite some time now, his stare a rather unreadable one. Narcissa, on the other hand, wore her heart nailed to her sleeve. She remained smiling across Pansy back at her son, her eyes wide with admiration and joy. "Which is why I wanted to propose something."

"Well," Lucius said, still watching Malfoy questionably, "propose away."

And instantly Pansy took Draco's father's advise. She turned to Draco, scooting herself slightly in the seat, and reached for his pale hands that rested on his lap. For a moment he watched her hold them, looking into Draco's gray eyes so intensely that his nerves crept back to him once again. "Draco Malfoy," Pansy started, looking confident and radiant and beautiful in her own way, "I've always loved you and I will always love you."

Narcissa touched the space on her chest where her beating heart would be.

Lucius placed his wine glass down on the table.

Draco's eyes flashed back and forth from his hands in Pansy's, and back to Pansy's face in general. His heart was beating faster and faster than ever. No way was this happening-- but it was. And he knew it before she could ask. Pansy's pretty mouth opened wide, formed her words accurately and elegantly. "And I know it's only been a short while, but I feel like I've been seeing you for many years."

Malfoy's face drained of any color it had left in it. She was right-- in the back of his horrified mind he figured that it was somewhat like he'd been seeing Pansy Parkinson for years on now. He felt himself grow a bit sick at the realization, not truly out of disgust with Pansy, but out of the bitterness he now felt towards himself. His ignorance, once again, never failed to amaze him.

"Draco Malofy," Pansy repeated, his name a rather consistent pronoun on her lips. She had kept her same distance, but all the while Draco could sense he leaning closer and closer and closer. He could once again hear the pounding fateful drums booming behind his temples. He knew what she was going to say, but the whole time he found that he was denying it all. But what use was it to deny something so utterly inevitable? There was no escaping it now... there was no excusing himself and walking upstairs to lock himself in his bedroom. There was absolutely nothing of the sort. And so as he sat in the chair, staring back into the lovely eyes that belonged to a woman that he did not love, he allowed her to continue on, stating romantically, "would you marry me?"

From her spot next to Pansy, Narcissa practically squealed. Her eyes instantly swelled up with tears and her hand slipped from off her chest. Draco's father's eyes only widened, but he remained silent, waiting. And they were all waiting, really, for an answer that was bound to come. Malfoy found himself opening his mouth and then slamming it back shut again with force. He had to say something and his mind told him over and over: say something, say anything! So, because he was admittedly bound to, he nodded timidly and said, "okay."

"Oh, Draco!" Narcissa once again swooned, leaping up from her seat and retreating towards her son's. She bent over the back of it and wrapped her arms around her son's shoulders. Her makeup was ruined by her running tears and she bent down, planting a sweet kiss on the top of his blond head. "Aren't you so proud, Lucius?"

Looking up for the first time in the night, Lucis Malfoy seemed a little uneasy at first. However, this notion was instantly shut down. He shook his head as if to shake something persisting from his mind, and once again lifted his wine glass. "Well, I must say I am," he demanded, a slight twinkle in his eye. Draco wasn't sure if it was the trace of tears of his own, or just the light hitting them. "Congratulations."

Congratulations. He'd been given the okay. And then why didn't he feel okay? This was what he wanted all along-- get married. He could finally check this little task off of his list. And, as he sat there seemingly stone-like in the wave of movement that carried out through the rest of the night, Draco Malfoy acted the way he was supposed to act, said the things he was supposed to say, and smiled the way he was supposed to smile. Because, after all, if he put on the happiest face in the world, who would be the wiser?

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**Vonne: **REVIEW!


	18. Rooftops

**Vonne:** Let's get right too it. Before that, though, I just want to let you know that I'm going to try and update as fast as I normally do now. I've just been so busy! I hope you're all still here and reading. :)

**Dramione1996: **Thanks! I'm so happy that you liked it. I'm sorry it took me a while to update this, but I hope you like this chapter just as much.

**Doni: **Pansy's always struck me as the type of girl who simply just wants things and once she gets them, she accepts it as it is, just due to the fact that she's accomplished it. And I kind of started the beginning of this chapter to offer you more insight to what really is going on in Lucius' head. :)

**Thwarted Moony: **HA! I do this to you because I love seeing your reaction. :) Anyways, hopefully you'll like this chapter. I added a lot of Draco/Hermione conversations and I can assure you that the next chapter will be filled with it, too.

**Shining Bright Eyes:** You may be right! Draco's got a whole bunch on his shoulders!

**Jade2099: **You don't really ever seem to know with Pansy. She's kind of like a brick wall- very, very hard to read. Anyways, there will be some insight as to what Pansy is thinking sooner or later. HA... Draco is kind of a puss, but in a cute way. Perhaps this time he'll be a little more fun loving. ;)

**Isabella120: **Oh, good. I'm glad that you liked the last chapter and the memory. I have more memories coming up that I've planned. :)

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**Chapter Eighteen:  
Rooftops**

Delirious and a bit too numb for his own personal good, Draco Malfoy was beginning to not be able to feel anything below his knees.

He'd been sitting on them for quite some time now, having packed and repacked his household stuff by hand. At first he'd thought himself absolutely mad to have ditched the help of his wand, though there was something time consuming about hand-packing his belongings that he found he very much like. He appreciated having to dig through the depths of his large closet, prying each and every one of his expensive clothes from their hangers and tossing them like useless fabric into each cases' container. He didn't truly know why he'd had all of these clothes, anyway. At one point he'd fancied all the pretty and polished shoes, but that was some time ago. Now he couldn't even remember the last time he'd entered the closet with the intent of coming out looking good.

As he thrust each of his unnecessary belongings into the suitcases he couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed of himself. Was this all he had to live for? To show that he'd been there? These articles of clothing? These shiny shoes and these expensive ties-- was that everything? These clothes and his reputation of being a Death Eater? Each time he pressed down on the pile of clothes, each time a tiny drop of sweat trickled from his forehead, he regretted the mark he'd made.

No, he hadn't only made it; he'd carved it, carved it into the cold, hard earth. With an ice pick he'd chipped away at the tree trunk that was the world he'd lived in. He'd made the tree sap pour out from its wooden walls, made it bleed...

But that was all going to change. Because Draco Malfoy was going to get married and make his family happy. He could pick back up the clustered wreckage that was his life. He would make it right. Some way, some how, everything would be right again. Maybe the world wouldn't love him, maybe society wouldn't fully heal. But in due time, his own personal time would come. There _would_ be that moment... that moment of pure redemption that could wipe away all the pain and the hurt and the darkness that he, himself, had caused. And maybe he couldn't completely erase the mark he'd made, but he'd be damned if he couldn't well try.

With a tired huff, he slammed the closet door shut, it's contents now completely empty. Then he started for his dresser, and pulled the drawer open with a much more gentle apprehension. His pale fingers, much like that of a musician's, tugged lightly on the little knob and watched as the view of all his shirts shown before him. It felt strange standing on his feet again, off of his now throbbing legs. This was it; he was moving out, going off to live with Pansy. And then, after that, he was going to get married. For better and for worse, in sickness and in health, he would be married and committed and content and satisfied and... and...

"Draco."

Malfoy spun around, knocking his elbow against the open drawer, dropping the spare white button up on the floor. His hereditary silver blond hair flopped limply over his sweaty forehead and, quite honestly, he looked around as if he'd just been scared by a specter. But the figure in the doorframe remained still, despite Draco's sudden outburst. He only slightly raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to calm himself. "Father," Draco breathed, touching the space on his chest that just concealed his beating heart, "I wasn't expecting you..."

"Well," Lucius responded, "I guess I am going to have to get used to the notion of actually having to knock before I burst into your new home." He waited for a reaction, but from the smile that slightly graced his face, Malfoy took it as a hint to loosen up. He shook his head, smiling as well, and bent down to pick up the discarded shirt. Once he'd had it in hand, he stood up stright again, wiped away his forehead, and shrugged as if shyly agreeing.

In the side of his vision, Draco watched the pillow cushion that covered the tiny toy radio, prayed that it wouldn't go off on him at the moment. However, he instantly felt stupid for even thinking such a thing could occur. There was no way that the voice would come through to him any time soon- not while she hated him. "I've almost got everything put away," Malfoy voiced, nodding slightly toward his cases. Messily, they were all sprawled out on the floor, and he wished he'd took the time to fold them neatly. His father tilted his head at the mess, looked back inquisitively back at his son, and then nodded, swallowing any urge to suggest he take a bit more care in his work.

Lucius Malfoy was, in all ways, almost the exact image of his son. His fingers were just as long and delicate, despite having held a wand that had caused so much damage. Behind his shadow of white blond hair, his eyes, though cold, were capticating and a bit mysterious. He was handsome, despite being almost impossible to approach, and when he spoke, he spoke with a slyness that was almost absolutely unmistakable. "I don't think," Lucius started in a voice that wasn't so enthralling. Instead he sounded a bit embarrassed, uneasy, and timid. His posute, however, was straight and reassurring, the statue of a proper public speaker. And, despite everything, the quiver in his voice was almost forgettable; if Draco didn't know him so well, he would have completely missed it. "I don't think I ever... thought I'd see the day you moved out."

Malfoy's shoulders fell and he shifted slightly. He tried to mimic the stance of his father, a man he never really wanted to be, but at the same time desired to be more than anything. He wanted that business man exterior- to be able to put on a strong exterior at the blink of an eye. And Lucius, Lucius was so perfect at that. He never showed anything but prestine perfection. And he was, in his own more socially acceptable way, a liar as well.

Malfoy faked a smile. "I'm growing up, father," he said sheepishly, with a fuax enthuasim of pride. "It had to happen sooner of later."

"I think you've been grown up for quite some time, actually," Lucius responded. Compliments did not work well for him, though as he said his comment to his son, he seemed truly genuine in his statement. Draco flushed slightly, not quite entirely comfortable in his place currently. But Lucius caught on, saying again with a little more determination, "I don't just say things when I don't mean them. Not to my family."

"I know," Draco answered, "thank you."

A temporary silence passed between the two of them. The moment in general was a bit strange and out of the ordinary. Not that Draco hadn't considered his father as a caring individual, but the way in which he talked to his son... there was something about it that was completely coated in suspicion. Even te way in which he stood, stiff and professional, he seemed tense in his utter apprehension. His gray eyes watched Draco only, saw nothing else in the room, and his hands seemed tight and intent on the top of his walking stick. "Just answer me this," Lucius started, locking eyes with his one and only son. "Can you answer one question for me? In complete honesty?"

Draco nodded, feeling the instant jitters creep up his sore spine. "Yes," he only half-lied, because he'd been left truly hanging.

"Why are you doing this?" Lucius' eyes burned into his son's, so curious and determined at the same time. "If this is what you want, I'm happy-- I'm thrilled. But if this isn't what you want, Draco... are you doing this for your mother? For your mother's sake? Or because of---"

"No," Draco coughed, slightly lunging foreward. His movement drew his father back, and he looked slightly appaled at Draco's outburst. Noting this, Draco slunk back, feeling a bit heated, and whispered timidly, "sorry." Then he dropped his nice shirt into the suitcase, turned back around to his drawers, and said to his father with his back turned, "don't worry about me, father. This is what I want... it is what I've always wanted."

"And you're in love with Pansy?"

Draco froze slightly, his hands still feeling around the drawer to make it look like he was looking for something. However, he stopped, finally able to catch his breath, and pulled out another shirt, this time wasting the time to fold it. "Yeah," Draco said again, a large lump in the depth of his throat, "yeah, I love her."

"Is that a promise?"

Nodding, Malfoy looked down at the drawer, tried to ignore the fact that his father was trying to look at him through the reflection of the mirror. "It's a promise," he lied, wishing that his father would leave and let him pack.

But Lucius Malfoy was hesitant. His voice stern and strong, he asked again, "do I have your word?"

"Yes," Malfoy once again lied. Then, he turned around, made sure that he looked slightly composed, and managed to look directly into his father's cold eyes, "you have my word."

Outside the light rain hit the top of the large house, making tiny echoing sounds of weightless drops. It had been a whole week since Pansy had had dinner over at the Manor with his parents. Malfoy hadn't gotten her a ring, hadn't talked much to his now fiance about their further arrangements. Thei engagement was, however, set and on Pansy's mind continuiously. Draco had heard that she'd been out in public more often, shopping for silverware and porcelain. More and more he began to think of Pansy in her white wedding dress, more and more he started to think of her walking towards him as she grazed down the isle.

And what about Goyle? Goyle had no idea of any of this. Surely he'd be just as happy about the whole thing as everyone else seemed to be. In the back of his mind Draco could just picture Goyle's sheer excitement, could see him patting him supportively on the back, smiling and saying proudly, "see! I knew you could do it! I knew you could start to turn your life around if you just tried!"

But now was now, and now meant that he had his bags to pack. He was never going to sleep in this bedroom again, and perhaps that was more a good thing than a bad thing. He didn't like the house anyway, not after everything that had happened behind its walls. He'd spent hours in his bedroom in tears, with his back pitched against the closet wall. He'd scratched tiny tally marks into the walls, marking the numer of days he'd stayed up there without coming out. He was surprised that the building had held up for that long, anyway. With all the damage that had been done, there would always be more haunting reminders.

"Okay," Lucius finally breathed, "well, congradulations, Draco. I... I'm really proud of you."

Malfoy couldn't manage to turn himself around. Instead he bent lower, pulled open the drawer closest to the floor, and said back, "thanks, dad." And then, much to his appreciation, he breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the retreating footsteps of his father, finally leaving his son to be.

So, he'd done it. Sunk so lie as to completely and utterly lie to his father. But Lucius Malfoy hadn't caught on, and the victorious celebration instantly began to outshine the pity. A legitamate smile took over his pale face and, through the dripping sweat, he focused on completely destroying the remainder of what was left in the drawer itself. In fact, he took up to having a bit too much fun with it, tossing each article into the suitcase one by one.

And then the little radio gave a static noise from underneath his bed, thus breaking Malfoy's uncharastically bouncy stride. He almost flopped completely over his own two feet, saving himself only by grabbing the open drawer, which slipped out of the dresser completely and hit the floor ontop of his mountain of clothing. The shirts inside the wooden drawer flopped up, sprawling out inside the drawer, just about finishing up Draco's messy packing job conclusively.

Glancing upwards, Draco Malfoy scanned the rubbish that had become of his room. Panting, he wiggled away from the dresser, stumbled over the lumps of his clothes, and limped, aching, towards his bed. With curious fingers he lifted the bed pillow, stared down at the yelling radio, and said into the speakers, "now is not really a good time."

"Oh, it isn't?" The voice said, thus putting and end to the static. From the tone of her harsh voice, she'd made it obvious that she wasn't in the mood to play nice. In fact, he'd gotten the most powerful notion that she was still mad at him for his past life. Though their last conversation had left her rather speachless, she seemed to have fonud her voice at last. Yes, she seemed to have found her most stern and cold parts of her missing tone. "Well, enlighten me, then. When is it a good time?"

Malfoy sighed, running a hand over his pale face, "no," he meakly muttered, "that's not what I meant. I just mean... I just mean that I'm at home, right now."

"At home," Hermione drawled, "well that's convenient. You know, you're... you're lucky I k-keep c-coming back." Hermone'd uneasy voice was consistent with her nerves. She was, in her own way, a little bit new at being an angry person. However, this time it called for these types of measures. This boy was everything she'd remembered hating-- absolutely loathing in her lifetime. Then why was it that she felt so bad about feeling so mad? Hypocracy wasn't really her thing... she'd spent so long telling Ron that grudges only rotted a person. In her very core she could feel herself rotting. Only half of her cared.

And why was it that he was being so nice? He should have been yelling back at her... he was an ex-Death Eater after all. Wasn't that sort of behavior rooted inside people like him? Maybe it was that she'd always been expecting it- expecting an outburst. However, he managed to remain quiet and calm and a bit overly collected when dealing with her, as if he'd completely understood, perhaps even mirrored her feelings, even. "I know," he whispered, "I'm actually a bit surprised myself..."

Hermione huffed, "why?"

"Because if I were you, whoever you are, I wouldn't have. It just means that you're a good person," he added, feeling a bit silly. He'd never said such a compliment to someone, and the sound of it coming from his mouth sounded even foreign to him. However, he knew that he'd meant it, ad he found that he felt rather good saying it outloud, complimenting someone like that while truly managing to mean it. "I've never really known a genuinely nice person before."

Dumbstruck, Hermione was at a loss. What the hell? How was it that he managed to progress as she felt herself blantantly regressing? She was supposed to have the upper hand here, and yet she found herself appearing more and more childish. "Well, I would imagine that you wouldn't have known anyone with a nice bone in their body," she retaliated and made a face when she heard the boy at the other end laugh slightly. "Anyway," she said, feeling a little bit annoyed, "you weren't finished with what you were saying the other day."

Malfoy looked around. He was beginning more and more to think of all the time he'd spent on the radio as a little secret relationship. It was thrilling and dangerous all at the same time. With one false slip up, he was more than done for. He turned to his dresser, lifted for the first time his wand, and pointed it at his bedroom door. The heavy thing slammed shut and the lock clicked instantly shut. He ran a clammy palm through the thick of his hair, ducking down low to the floor. When his knees hit the ground, he began a childish crawl towards the back of his bed and leaned backwards against the bedskirt. "Actually, I was more than finished."

"That wasn't our deal," Hermione coughed, "you haven't scared me off yet."

"I'm not sure I want to scare you off," Draco quipped, a bit too soon. Once he'd said it, however, he wished he could instantly take it back. He was getting married now, he was going to have a wife and a future with her. Besides, he didn't even know this woman, and was sure that she didn't want to get to know him any further than the little arrangement that they'd had. Despite this, he didn't appologise. Instead he kicked his knees up towards his chest and said, "I need to get out of this house."

"You're an adult," Hermione drew on, "get up and leave."

"Yeah, well," Draco answered back, "it doesn't work that way."

"And how does it work?"

Malfoy knew that he had to leave. There was no way he coud have a conversation and pull it off as simply one with himself. His father would undoubtedly hear everything. He scanned his bed room, the old room where he used to sleep peacefully. That was furthermore no longer the case. Many times he'd spent restless nights indoors, unable to get the sleep. And now, now he'd been inside the room for too long. The time was, after all, beginning to wear on him. So, with a intake of new breath, he slid towards the window and placed the radio down on the surface of his bed mattress. He could still hear the rhytm of the woman on the other end, her breathing restless and present.

She could hear him grunt slightly as he pushed the window open. A swirl of rushing wind hit the speakers of the toy radio and Draco once again lunged forward to wrap his fingers around it. "What are you doing?" Hermione asked, hearing a little rumble through his side of the speakers. His feet at hit something harshly and there came a timid slam of something that made her slightly reel backwards.

"Taking your advice," Draco huffed. The slam she'd heard was that of his bedroom window shutting once again, this time from the outside. "You're right, I need to get out of the house."

Hermione felt the butterflies rise in her stomach. Somethat wasn't right, she could practically sense it. "I hear wind," she said in a tone of voice that was testing. "How'd you get out of these so fast?"

"I took the roof," Draco said simply. He huffed again, standing still just before his window. He scanned the view of his rooftop. It was high, with a rather steep drop. If he didn't watch himself, the next thing that would break would be his neck. However, in the rushing wind, he kept fairly calm. On the other hand, the moment Hermione heard Draco tell her that he was literally on top of his house, her eyes widened.

"The roof?" She squealed, raising the radio up to her mouth desperately, "the_ r__oof_? G-Get down from there... you're going to fall!"

Malfoy shrugged, "nah, I'll be fine."

First he took a step away from the window, inching forwards with careful intention. However, his first step quickly turned into multiple. He descended down the side of the roof with his arms outspread to keep his balance. But he took a bit of sadistic joy in hearing the woman's worry come through the radio. She was, after all, still mad at him, but she still couldn't mask her horror. "I could die," he teased, looking down at the ground, which seemed like a long and distant drop from his current standpoint. "One wrong misstep and-- _splat_-- I'm done for."

Hermione shook her head, her face draining of any color it had left. "You're sick," she spat.

A smile took over Malfoy's face. His blond hair rushed about him wildly, "you know just as well as I that you're not the first to tell me that."

"So, what?" Hermione whimpered, feeling herself grow sicker and sicker as the moments passed. She was jittery despite herself. "You're going to _kill_ yourself trying to get out of the house? W-Why not just use the front door?"

"Can't do that," Draco laughed, anxious despite his joking. Funny that she'd found the time to worry about him, when she'd been so angry with him earlier. Surely the thought of his death would only make her happy. And perhaps he was pushing it when he'd decided to tease her with the thought of it, noting that she wasn't finding it humorous at all. In fact, she seemed furthermore compltely opposed to the notion of his passing.

Hermione stumbled over her words, stiffening on the mattress of her bed. She had pulled her hair back into a sloppy pony tail, waiting anxiously for Draco to speak again. "Don't you care if you die?" Hermione asked, sweating. Then she shook her head, running her own palm down the front of her own face. Sighing, she instantly took back her words, "wait, don't answer that. Stupid question."

Malfoy's foot lost it's step. He stumbled slightly forward, falling ever so slightly so that a tiny little gasp escaped his throat. He opened his eyes to see that he was standing just barely at the end of the roof's edge, breathing restlessly. Hermione almost dropped her radio. She yelped, and froze, her hand pitched over her thundering heart. But as Draco stood there, hunched over, he managed to blink down at the fall that he'd almost took. He had come very close to it... to actually dying.

And he didn't seem to care. In fact, as he continued to stare down at the drop, the more he felt comfortable with the idea.

"Oh shit! Oh... _shit,_" the woman's voice broke his curious considerations. Instantly Malfoy seemed to snap out of his dellirium and he straightened himself up, freezing for a moment to listen to the woman's worry. He held his breath, making himself absolutely quiet.

When he thought that Hermione couldn't take it any longer, Draco pressed the radio closer to his mouth, tilting his head to the side, "oh, I'm sorry... did I scare you?"

The woman blantly huffed. "You little prat!" she yelled, a rough strain in her voice. She was panting, as if she'd run a few miles during the time that had passing in between them. Her hair slightly fell out from her poiny tail and whirled about her pretty face, which was now twisted and terrified. She had turned a bright shade of red, feeling slightly embarrassed for her concern for him in the first place. She was completely shaken, rubbing her temples at the top of her head restlessly, "what the hell is your problem?"

Malfoy bit his bottom lip, continuing to inch towards the edge of the roof. He leaned forward, gripping the large and sterdy tree trunk that reached out just inches before him. "My problem?" he asked, "there's far too many to even begin to tell you about." The woman's second huff told him that she did not truly appreciate the joke. In fact, she continued to huff from her other end, bluntly trying to think of something effective to say back to him. However, even Draco could sense that she was at a loss. Shrugging, he added, "besides, I did what you thought I couldn't."

"And what," Hermione hissed, "is that?"

Shrugging, Malfoy lifted his leg up from the roof, not even bothering to test out the tree's branches before climbing on to them. "I scared you," he said simply.

Hermione sat still, blinking back at her room. That ignorant prat, that foolish piece of shit. How could he be so inconsiderate? She could strangle him if she had the option of it. She could push him off that roof and not feel one ounce of guilt about it. But... he was right. "Arsehole," was all she could bring herself to say to him.

But Malfoy wasn't paying her much attention. He'd slunk down the majority of the tree and hit the ground with a little grunt. Then, he leaned back against it, feeling cool, despite the woman's misery. "Alright, calm down. I've got both feet on the ground now."

"Aw, and for some reason I'm now hoping you'd fallen and landed on your head."

Malfoy tossed his head back, leaning against the tree trunk with the most of his weight. His eyes looked up at the roof, feeling a slight rush that he'd gotten down it in one piece. "ouch," he smiled, biting his lower lip, "harsh."

Hermione scoffed, still not amused, "you deserve it. Shit, you're one piece of work, you know that?"

"I know," Draco agreed, stepping away from the tree and starting out across the long stretch that was his emerald backyard, "now where were we?"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione leaned back. Her heart was still rushing, but she allowed herself to appear composed to some extent. When she spoke, however, she gave of the impression of the exact opposite. "You were telling me more about what caused you to be a complete lunatic."

"Ah!" Draco smiled once again. He quite liked the conversations with this girl. "Alright, where to begin?"

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**Vonne: **Well how do you like that? Draco, for the first time in a long time, is a little bit flirty? I like that attitude for him. ;)


	19. Through the Kissing Doors

**Vonne:** I know, it took a while. Sorry! This one is a memory chapter, so that is why it is written in slanted lettering. If you remember from the previous chapter, Malfoy was just about to continue with how his life played out while living with Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Alright, well, I won't waste any more time...

**Corey Flitzwilliam: **I'm so glad you're enjoying it so far and actually read each chapter even when not having followed it since the beginning. Your review definitely motivated me to get this chapter up and finished! Thanks so much! I really appreciate it!

**Isabella120: **Thank you! I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

**Doni: **Yeah, I slightly enjoyed Draco being adventurous, too. He needs some more exictement in his life, don't you think? :) And maybe you're right about Lucius... you never know. But Lucius is a very smart man. He's probably figured something, if anything at all, out. Or at least knows SOMETHING is up, huh?

**Voldyismyfather: **Thanks! I'm so glad that you think that way. I'd like to hope this gets better as it goes on- HAHA. :)

**Shining Bright Eyes: **Thanks so much for all your reviews. I say that every single time but you're always doing it and I appreciate it more and more. :)

**Jade2099: **HAH, you're right. Lucius is the ULTIMATE Slytherin. But you're right, he is a father, as well. But it looks like you're going to have to wait and find out to see how Lucius and Draco figure this one out. :)

Thanks guys!

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**Chapter Nineteen:  
Through the Kissing Doors **

_Draco Malfoy came through the doors of his own house but he may have well entered a foreign country. _

_He was woozy and a bit clouded, but he kept open his eyes, a slight struggle, all things considered. With his mess of silvery-blond hair on top of his throbbing head, he wished nothing more but to be back at school. But that didn't matter now because such a wish was utterly impossible. He was here and there was really no changing that. He was here and he would continue to be until he was permitted to leave. In the moment he allowed his foggy eyes to scan the rest of the living room. Sprawled out on top of the furniture was the rest of the Death Eaters, looking sly and suspicious and eager. They watched him in unison as he stood haveringly at the doorframe, shovel in hand, covered completely in dirt. _

_Bellatrix Lestrange allowed a beautifully dangerous smile creep across her pale face. She was, after all, quite captivating despite being completely horrifying all at the same time. And, despite her deliciously evil looks, she was a Malfoy. She had, as all others, inherited that very same charm of physical attraction that had graced her sister. What was chilling about her was the cold twinkle behind her pair of yellow eyes, two narrow globes that seemed endless despite their stoney atmosphere. As she watched the shady figure of her nephew at the head of the living room, she lifted her boney fingers to her head of messy hair, the massive knot of salt and pepper colors, and took to twirling the locks around her little finger. "Don't look so blue, Draco," she advised, watching him carefully, "some people would say that digging graves builds character."_

_Now two in the morning, Draco must have built much of his character. He was tired after having dug seven graves, but filling them was what proved to be the hardest part. And Snape was not about to let him falter on the job. But either way he'd got it done, staggered back to the Manor, while all the way he tried to mask his sleepiness. He wasn't doing so successfully at that bit, however. Each long moment that passed between him and the Death Eaters made his posture sag down a bit further, made his shoulders sink with dellusion. Even hazy, he could hear Snape quip back, "is that true, Bella? Does that mean you've not dug any?"_

_"I've dug plenty." Bellatrix said back, offended at Snape's comment. Perhaps he had misjudged her; of course Bellatrix would have done such a thing. She might have, after all, taken much pride in it. As Snape passed her by hastly, she picked at her yellowing teeth with a long fingernail of hers, "it's actually," she drolled happily, "quite a favorite past time of mine."_

_"I don't think your nephew liked it too much, Bellatrix," Rowle laughed, sizing Draco Malfoy up with one quick glance. _

_"Yeah, well," Bellatrix answered, rolling her eyes, "disipline doesn't run in the family." She then reeled back slightly, having pulled something finally from her mouth, and analyzed it disgusted before flicking it across the living room floor. _

_"Obviously." Thorfinn Rowle had never truly liked Draco Malfoy much, but his displeasure with the boy only intensified after the past several weeks. His incident of loosing track of Harry Potter and his friends at a small cafe had been, of course, quite a mistake. He'd never quite dropped the matter of Draco having preformed the Cruciatus Curse. Every time that the two passed, Rowle took to morphing his face into a scowl. He know had a permanet scar that slashed across the side of his face. Having opened the left surface of his cheek, Rowle's face was forever tainted as a reminder and each threatening look he tossed Draco let him know that he would never truly live it down._

_Malfoy took the hint and the gaze and instantly dropped his eyes. _

_"You know what I don't like, Bellatrix?" Rowle started with a growl, "I don't like it when young people don't mind their manners." _

_"Relax, Rowle," Bellatrix mulled, digging back into her teeth. But that was all she'd opted into saying; after having pulled her fingers away from her mouth, she leaned back, stretched out, and turned her head slightly upsidedown to get a brand new look at the massive kissing doors ahead of her. She chewed playfully on her bottom lip and let her bird's nest hair frame her boney face, which would have been rather pretty if it weren't so utterly horrifying. _

_Noticing Bellatrix's glances back and forth, Rowle perked up a bit- or as much as he possibly could for a man of his size. Smiling, he tossed a look towards Malfoy once again and said excitedly, "you're absolutely right, Bella. Anyway, the Dark Lord will deal with such a problem."_

_A cold chill ran down the length of Draco's spine. He could feel his own blood run slower. Where was his father? His mother? Weren't they supposed to be here with him? And, more importantly, where was Snape, who'd been just behind him only moments ago? The missing place where he should have been standing made Malfoy want to disolve into a giant puddle. There was no more safety net, nothing to support him. And, falling hard into the realization that he was utterly and entirely alone, Draco could have died right there on the spot._

_Then the two doors opened, letting everyone in the living room preview the overwhelming amount of darkness that lay beyond the two doors. A larger smile brightened the whole of Rowle's face; Bellatrix Lestrange bounded up from the sloppy sofa, looked into the darkness as if about to devour a lover. And then a high pitched scream sounded through the entire bulk of the Manor. It wasn't the first scream that Malfoy had ever heard, but the fact did not make it any less horrible. The scream was that of a woman's, so obvious behind even the most awful cracking that ran through it. She yelled out once at the initial opening of the large doors and then silenced herself to timid whimpers._

_The choice to advance forward was inevitable; it was something that had to be done, even without having been asked. But Bellatrix was up and running before such a thought could even come to Malfoy's head. She skipped like an eager child, ready to open up some long awaited gift. With each bouncy jump her matted hair flounced up with her until she was just only a sinking figure in the distance, the blackness of her gown blending in the the sheer blackness of the room. _

_Rowle remained put, his feet slightly rooted for a moment before turning his head towards Draco and practically demanding that he followed. And because he truly had no choice, Malfoy brought himself towards the sound of the scream, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. Rowle was off behind him in an instant. He seemed so calm there behind him; his hands in his nice suit pockets. Like Lucius, he'd kept an unfaltering posture. Blond and slightly overweight, only the glowing figure of the top of Rowle's head was visible in the darkness. _

_As the walk in the dark came to an abrupt end, Malfoy could just make out the window against the dark wall. It showed the view of the back yard and the albino peacock pacing about the emerald stretch of grass. In the night, the stars seemed to twinkle vibrantly, a reminder of something good and pure that Draco had so obivously passed up on possessing. And then, just as he thought he'd break down in the anxiety of the peacefulness outside, something new took that beauty instantly away from him. Quickly, the curtain was drawn over that one glass window, and once again he was thrust back in the blackness, leaving him there and nothing more. _

_The woman on the ground screamed again and Draco stumbled back over his feet. She was much closer than he'd anticipated for her to be; in fact, she was at his feet, coiled and crawled on the marble floors of what used to be his father's office. The moment his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he could see that the large office desk had been removed. The renovation had called for anything and everything else in the room to be removed along with it. It appeared that he was standing in the emptiness of the room, the only objects inside proved to be just shadows. The figures appeared in heavy blobs all around the exterior of the empty room, circling the woman at his feet. She'd finally managed to raise herself, clinging onto the front of Malfoy's shirt, and begging for something so rapidly that he could only barely understand her. _

_Her accent was strong and riddled with slang, which was explained by the age of the young woman. Perhaps only in her late twenties, she was ragged, dirty, and a bit overly frazzled. Her fingers were inclosed in a pair of gloves without fingers, the side of her face was only slightly bruised, but from the corner of her thin mouth trailed a minimum flow of crimson blood. She was undoubtedly homeless, but the look in her eyes told Draco that all she wanted was to be back in her "home", whatever the place was in which she called that. "Please," she was saying, was crying in little broken tones, "please don't kill me."_

_Kill her? Draco Malfoy could't even stand to look at her writhing there, let alone kill her. Sick with pity, he backed away further, still managing to stumble back over himself with nervous aggression. "Do backbones run in the family, Bellatrix?" Rowle sarastically asked from someplace in the darkness. The woman on the floor looked up, appearing retched underneath her soggy face, and gawked at the nothingness in horrified curiosity. _

_"You're implying that you posess such a thing," Bellatrix hummed, clearly not bothered by Rowle's insult to her own family. It wasn't, of course, as if she truly considered Draco to be very much related to her in the first place, but she did quite fancy the art of her vain wit and ability to humiliate when given the chance._

_Rowle stiffened. "Of course I have a backbone," he shot back, not expecting her to turn that tables back on to him. Of course, in the little light that the room held, such bickering gave little to the effect of solitude. _

_"Ah," Bellatrix said. Draco Malfoy could hear that creek of the walls as she leaned back against them. The structure of the place had not been as sturdy as it used to be, after having taken quite a beating ever since the Death Eaters had called the Manor their home. Either way, Bellatrix stay firmly pitched against it, once again taking to picking at her teeth, this time with the end of her wand. "You must have multiple, then. Clearly besides laziness and a lack of self-control, a surplus amount of bones could be the only other reason why you're such a fat bastard."_

_"Enough!" Someone new called, just as the sound of Rowle running forward echoed throughout the entire room. At the sound of the noise Rowle's had frozen in his place, his wand held out in front of him aimed at Bellatrix's chest like the end of a loaded gun. However, Bellatrix's eyes only met the tip of Rowle's wand unimpressed before searching the empty room for the owner of the new voice. On the ground the woman cowered, bringing her entire face into her hands and falling entirely within herself. Malfoy's own head whipped up and she thrust hers down- two acts so perfectly in unison that Malfoy only felt more pity for her. They were quite very much the same-- too horrified to move a single muscle. But within a moment Bellatrix's face brightened up with extreme enlightenment. Lord Voldemort, in his own rotting flesh, stood before her and she could tell just by the very raspy drawls that emitted fatally from his throat. His two narrow and yellow slit-like eyes pierced throug the darkness, providing something of the only light necessary. _

_The snake of a man didn't spin around, but merely turned his head in a slow and steady fashion, his eyes coming to focus once again on none other than Draco Malfoy. "I thought," he hissed, still angry from all those previous months ago when Draco found he couldn't kill Albus Dumbledore there in the night on the Astronomy Tower, "that you'd just... relish... in the chance to redeem yourself."_

_A third scream echoed through the room and the woman, still absolutely fearful, was twisting and turning on the marble, contemplating a way out. But even she had not a single idea of what sort of death would await her, was oblivious to any sort of idea. And Draco was sure she was a Muggle, because at every sight of flying light from a wand sent her screaming again, ducking as if the shots were always aimed at her. She was shaking, spitting between her lips that she didn't care what sort of devil worshipers they were, what sort of cult they had going, but that she wouldn't tell anyone, wouldn't tell a single soul, not even one. _

_Draco winced when she'd said it: Devil Worshipers. Nothing could be more far and more close to the point. In a way he had, quite frankly, made a deal with such a creature- such a Satan like this man, who walked the earth as merely a rotting corpse. He'd escaped death, beaten the odds, and come back as their Dark Lord, whom they were supposed to love and fear and serve. It seemed so stupid to think back that at one point in his life, Draco had wanted such a life- had even anticipated it with open arms. His ignorance and stupidity overwhelmed him, his father had even seemed a bit uneasy. But it was too late going back now- they'd all made their choice, they all made every choice in the world..._

_Rowle grunted unenthuastically in the corner, not quite convinced that giving Draco Malfoy a second chance was such a bright idea. He rolled up his sleeves in angry anticipation, however was too afarid to voice his displeasure. In the little light that Draco could see throughout the room, he caught sight of Rowle's undenyable Dark Mark on his forearm, there scrawled across his pale stretch of skin, permenant. The one on his own arm burned, stung like a horrible and forever aching reminder- his Mark of the Beast. His Deal with the Devil._

_At once Draco Malfoy wanted religion, salvation, passion, and peace, and every single thing that came with it. He wanted baptisim and repent and forgiveness and undenyable love. But now was too late, was far too late. And as he stared onto the arched back of the homeless Muggle woman, who'd only probably been sleeping when she'd been so careless snatched away from the only life she knew, he knew that he couldn't go back. He'd signed the hypothetical contract, scrawled Voldemort's mark on to his very skin. He was, in his own way, bound and rooted. He was, like the other Death Eaters surrounding him, part of the unforgiven, the unable to be saved. What good was religion, salvation, passion, and peace if he could never obtain it? The Dark Mark on his pale forearm was proof of that. _

_If someone poured Holy Water on him, would he burn? _

_If he died right now, would he fall to Hell?_

_"R-redeem...?" Draco asked Voldemort in the darkness, still locking eyes with the back of the figure on the floor. She'd hovered lower at the sound of Draco's voice, which was truly just as raspy and hoarse as Voldemort's now._

_Voldemort stepped slightly forward, away from Bellatrix, who looked sad as he strode away from her. "Of course, Draco, of course!" He first spoke with wonder, but then his voice reeked of vanity and pride. He looked down at the blond boy as he added, "being the kind and merciful Lord that I am, I have decided to give you such a chance... to prove to me your loyalty and obdience." He held out the thin stick that Draco realized at once was his own wand. His wand that he'd not seen in ages, his wand that looked so dangerous in the hands of the man standing there stiffly in front of him._

_"How?" Draco asked desperately, though nervous and completely aware. Of course he knew how, and at the stupidity of the question, the cluster of shadows behind Voldemort gave a chorus of heart felt laughs. _

_But Voldemort remained silent. At first he kept his gaze strong until he backed off, finally letting his eyes land on the figure before him, a mere Muggle so helpless in her tight ball. "Here," he said, with his voice filling with disgust at the putrid thing writhing uncontrollably on the ground, "I'll demonstrate. Crucio!"_

_At last the woman broke. Her limbs loosened and she became nothing but a big heap on the floor. She moved as if in tremors, eyes filling up with tears. Her throat permitted an ample amount of screams from its depths, which she allowe to echo through the entire atmosphere of the empty room, once Draco's father's office. She gagged and spit up, snot streaming out of her nose quickly. When her head arched back, she slapped her skull to the marble and a pond of red blood escaped her matted head of hair with rapid force. Through her terror she was trying to speak, though her words were only bits and pieces of sentences that were surely impossible to understand. Still jerking, her white knuckles found their way towards Draco's prensence and she crawled towards him, as if she was ignorant enough to presume he'd help._

_Finally Voldemort dropped his own wand and the woman flopped back down to the ground again, clearly sobbing. The depest part of Malfoy's stomach twisted and he could hardly stand it watching the blood fill up around the crown of her head, her own bloody halo that stuck like a simple ring around the circumference of her now swollen head. And Voldemort only locked his gaze with Malfoy's, waiting for him to follow his lead._

_But Malfoy couldn't seem to lift his hand. Even though the better sense of his head was telling him to go, do it, or die, he couldn't quite manage. There was no strength or feeling left in it-- no feeling left in his entire arm, addtionally. And he stood there, only dumbstruck at the figure before him, still and unmoving, but screaming and suffering. She'd pulled her hair out of her head, clumps of it next to her twitching torso as big and massive as an entire mouse. His mouth couldn't even form the words, his eyes couldn't even keep Voldemort's gaze. Inside his chest his heart beat faster and faster and over and over he thought that maybe he deserved Hell, maybe he deserved life in enternal sufferring and wallowing and hopelessness and damnation. _

_"Hm," Voldemort tutted, after a long moment of standing in his suspicions, "pity." Then he raised his wand again, though this time at the figure of someone new-- Draco's. Malfoy felt the burning hit him before he knew it and the wand clattered from the grips of his sweaty palms even before his own legs gave in. He hit the ground in tiny little parts- knees, and then his upper half-- just before the woman. On the floor next to him, she shot up, darting backwards like a crab, screaming wildly and more loud than even before. Her back hit the wall, unable to take her eyes, wide with anxiety, off of the blond boy, who was on the ground gagging, choking as if two invisible hands were strangling him half to death._

_And Malfoy had never felt something so physically painful in his entire life. His hands reached up to his throat, but were only weak with hopeless strength. The burning sensation riddled throughout his entire skeleton. All two hunred and six bones in his body were on fire, encaptivated in flames that seemed endless and overwhelming. At any moment he was sure he'd combust, become nothing but a pile of black steaming ash. Still alive and physical not truly capitvated in flames, he could feel his eyes go back, could hear the voices of the other Death Eaters, but couldn't possibly understand them. All their sounds meshed together; millions of voices laughing through his fuzzy thoughts. His own head slammed against the marble and he bit down on his lower lip, feeling it split open on impact. In the corner, the woman cried loudly._

_Though Voldemort had no plans on backing down any time soon. He'd known that there was no way possible Draco Malfoy could have done what he'd been asked to do, and even though a bit disappointed, Voldemort relinquished in the sheer delight that overtook him now. _

_Draco's hands slipped down from his throat and he felt them completely lifeless at his sides. His neck was sore with twitches, and twisting. He no longer could see behind his tear stung eyes and he no longer knew where he was. He was slipping in and out of consciousness and of sanity, could barely breathe as every tremendous surge swept mercilessly throughout his entire body. Was this it? Was he dead? Was this Hell? _

_At last Voldemort released his grip on his wand, snapped away from Draco, panting breathlessly. And in the corner the Muggle woman watched the body of Draco Malfoy still twtich, still choke and gurgle slightly as if trying to catch his breath. She was in hysterics, her face so red from her tears that each time it slid down her puffy front it stung her bitterly. But Malfoy was lying on his back, his chest heaving up and down spastically. He was drenched in sweat and tears and snot, spit, and blood. Desperately he reached for the stone floor in front of him, pulled himself up to a postition where only his upper torso was raised. Heaving rapidly, clutching his queasy stomach, he was sick with nausea when he vomited on the marble floor._

_The loud screams from the Muggle rose anxiously. Voldmort strode towards the door, the length of his long black ropes flowing out slightly behind him. "Finish her off," he demanded, and then vanished behind the large doors, completely out of sight. _

_Bellatrix leaned forward, eager and more than utterly willing. The smile on her face was wide and fearless and she rose her wand with sweet aggression. "Avada Kedavra!" she shouted and the woman gave out her last final scream before flopping down on the floor in one fatal heap._

_"Alright now," Rowle said, having happily had his wish of reaping revenge upon Draco Malfoy granted, "your turn." He truly did desire to kill the boy, to once and for all end it on a note joyous to him, but that was something for another time, another place. He was, of course, only half lying, but he inched his wand up into the air and aimed it right at Malfoy's rising chest. And so, as Malfoy felt himself fall back down to the ground again, feel the sinking loss that weighed heavy inside his empty, heartless chest, he was once again unconscious on the marble floor, lost completely to the world._

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**Vonne: **REVIEWS! :)_


	20. Bliss

**Vonne: **Alright, decided to update this chapter fast! Hopefully that's a good thing. :)

**Isabella120: **Thanks, HA. If it is fitting to be thankful for describing something so sickly. :) Anyway, I'm glad that it seemed realistic to you. I hope you like this next chapter, as well.

**Doni: **Thank you, too. I'm glad (if that sounds sane to say) that everyone seemed to find the previous chapter a sad one. I definitely did what I'd set out to do in my descriptions. But I feel like the whole situation could be something that very possibly could have occurred in the books. I mean, Malfoy wasn't exactly too keen in the Manor in Deathly Hallows, anyway. So, why not? :)

**Shining Bright Eyes: **I'm glad you liked it, once again. :) I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much, too. It's not as intense as the previous ones, but either way, I hope you're fond of it just as much. HA!

**Dramione1996: **HA! He probably did, considering the circumstances. But hopefully things will pick up...

**Jade2099: **Exactly! That's why I feel like Draco's situation was, if anything, pitiable. I mean, he was really young when the whole thing was going on and was brought towards it by his parents. Besides, going in to it he did realize that he didn't have the stomach for it. I mean, that's not to say that book Malfoy wasn't at fault-- because he was. But as the book ended he did seem fairly close enough to redemption. ;)

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**Chapter Twenty:  
Bliss**

"So what are you going to do about it?" Hermione Granger asked the long pause that now only defined the being on the other end. He'd been breathing heavily, speaking slightly muffled into what seemed to be the palm of his own hands, and even so angry, she couldn't help but consider the immense pity she felt for him. What a life, an awful one at that, that Hermione hadn't even begun to consider. And whoever it was on the other end, whatever poor distraught soul, he was obviously not okay.

After the moment passed between them, Draco removed the palm he'd had hiding his pale face. He was laying on his back, face up at the evening sky. He felt like he'd run miles. Everything about his torso stung and ached and burned. He hadn't expected that telling the woman everything would be as difficult as it had been-- and he'd only informed her of two days. Two days out of a lifetime of many. Years and years and years, and now, he'd been living in only the aftermath; the sudden and hefty ending of the entire ordeal. But why couldn't he move on? Why did it take more to forget than he'd expected? "What am I going to do?" he asked the female voice, not bothering to hide the stress that ached behind his awful tone, "What do you mean 'what am I going to do'? I'm going to do what I'm supposed to do."

Hermione cleared her throat. She was frustrated for having felt bad for him, but what else could she feel? Still, annoyed, she said back, "what is it you're supposed to do?"

"Move on."

Finally Hermione let a little giggle escape from her throat. She'd spent a long hour listening to this boy tell her of his life, and now he was just being ignorant. "Move on," she joked, riveted, "move on, huh? And what would that require?"

Draco shrugged. His sore shoulders grazed the dewy grass and his lifted them up and back down again. "It only requires the basics. Simple. Get married."

"_MARRIED?"_ So overwhelmingly high-pitched was Hermione's voice that, on the other end of the radio speakers, Draco Malfoy jumped up several inches. He stared back down at the little toy shocked; she'd been the first so opposed to this decision. Everyone else seemed to think that he was on the right right- going to the gold, so close they could almost taste it for him. So why was she so outraged? The angry breaths coming from her side of the toy were obvious and loud. She might have whipped herself up from her seat as well. Something about even the sound of her undaunted breaths was chilling and curious.

When he spoke again, he did so in a slow and calm voice. "Yeah..." he said tired and confused.

"You're getting _married?"_

Why did she care so much? The aching tone of her petrified voice was almost unbelievably serious. He could even picture her face without even knowing what it looked like. Didn't she hate him? Didn't she wish him to fall from the rooftops only moments ago? "Unfortunately," Malfoy said, slowly. It was the first time he'd heard himself admit his displeasure with the thing out loud. But that didn't matter now. Saying it out loud or saying it in solitude, either way it was the only way.

"Unfortunately? I... Are you... Are you completely insane? Marriage is-- marriage is a special pact between two people it's... it's not something you throw around because you're depressed!" Hermione paused, stopping instantly in her own babbling. She'd been going on frustrated and heated and all the while she could only think about this man's faltering sanity. Perhaps he was as much of a lunatic as he'd so desperately believed himself. She brought her hand up to her forehead, inhaled briefly, and then added, "why the fuck are you getting married?"

Explaining himself, with a newfound sense of frustration of his own, Draco Malfoy said back, "that's the golden fix, right? That's the way to do it."

"To do what?" Hermione spat.

"To wake up! To get out of all this delusion!" Malfoy's face flushed, unsure why she was so blatantly opposed.

"By brining someone down along with you?"

Malfoy laughed, the first time since he'd finished telling her part of his life's story. "Oh, trust me. You especially would think she very much deserved it."

Hermione leaned up against the side of her bedpost. She crossed her ankles and shut her eyes, finally feeling herself defeated. "You really don't. You really don't get it, do you?"

"At least I'm trying," Draco hissed, defensively.

"Well, you're doing a shitty job of it."

And then Draco could finally feel the heat rise up in his chest. Perhaps _she _wasn't too keen on the idea, but he was-- or, at least, everyone else was. Her input made everything else more confusing and difficult. He couldn't possibly please everyone, and this woman, this voice on the other end of this silly little toy that he hadn't met once in all his life... her opinion had come far, far too late. "Yeah, thanks," he spit back at her, pulling himself up from the ground. He wasn't too keen on further pushing the situation he was in with her, anyway, but something couldn't stop him from doing it. She obvious was still bitter, and nothing he could say or do could change that. And now, now it actually got to him. "So, I'm going to go now," he added, informing her with intense aggression.

Hermione grunted, pushing her hair back behind her ears. "Going to go, are you?" she retaliated, ignoring the fact that she'd regressed to being as bossy as she'd always been expected to be. "Okay, right. Going to go where?"

Malfoy was hastily loosing it. Quickly he could feel himself drain of everything left. She could push him all she wanted but that wasn't going to change anything. He stammered over himself for a moment, pushing his sweaty hand through his head of light blond hair. Trying desperately to think of something fitting to say, he stuttered only momentarily before announcing to her decisively, "---to go and get a best man."

Hermione tossed her head back. "HA! Alright, go. Go and find your best man. Go get married and live one, great, big satisfactory life."

Draco huffed. It was their most explosive and real fight, and at the moment he could feel the anger begin to bubble inside his heaving chest. He was hot and sweaty and yet, something made him not want to throw the radio down. The thought of walking away somewhat terrified him-- and the thought that it terrified him, terrified him. Part of him wanted to keep fighting until they weren't fighting anymore. And part of him wanted to wring her neck. "Fine!" he shouted back, immature and childish, and then added, "and just so you know- I am completely okay with 'satisfactory'."

"Oh, well, then you are even _more_ mental than I'd initially thought."

Draco grunted, half laughing and half exhaling. "That is the millionth time you've informed me of such, darling," he swooned, drunk with the idea of pissing her off. He wanted her angry, and at the same time desired nothing in the world than for her not to be mad with him.

"I just find it funny. How content you are with living a satisfactory existence. Since when is satisfactory ideal?"

"It's _not_ ideal," Draco came back. His hand was still pitted on his forehead, sweating back into his hair, "but it's all I've got."

Hermione didn't waste a moment telling him what she'd thought of his comment. Sighing hysterically, she was angry and frustrated and about ready to toss the radio against the wall. Finally, giving up heatedly, she spat, "you're mental."

And then, Draco let himself do it. He yelled back into the speakers, "Fine!" and then thrust the damned thing back into his coat pocket before getting up and leaving the clearing of emerald altogether.

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Gregory Goyle was only half asleep when he'd first heard the knock at the door or, at least, thought he'd heard it. He lifted his massive head, looking around uneasily, and waited for it to come again. When finally it did, he staggered upwards, moseyed over to the front of his small house, and pulled open the door with slow apprehension. He yawned before his eyes adjusted to the features of the figure standing before him and his face fell. Looking slightly disillusioned he looked up minutely from his poor postured stance and said with a raised eyebrow, "Draco?"

Standing straight on Goyle's front porch, Draco shrugged forcing his face up into a polite smile. "Evening, Goyle," he beamed because he was sure that he was supposed to.

The bigger of the two men leaned backwards. He gripped the side of his house's doorframe and tightened the belt on his robe. "Evening? Don't you mean night?" Goyle looked around outside; it was, after all, completely black out. "It's almost ten thirty, Draco."

"What?" Draco asked, face melting, "you don't look like you're too happy to see me." His entire visage fell into that of a timidly hurt child. But of course Draco had always had gotten that look down- the look of a wounded stag. This time Goyle could see that he was truly serious and, feeling slightly guilty for not being more pleasant about Draco's visit, he shook his head solemnly.

"No, not at all." He responded, stepping aside. He welcomed his old friend into his house with a sweeping gesture of his beefy hand and shut the door behind them. "I was sleeping, that's all." And with one look through Goyle's house it was quite obvious that he was telling the truth. The throw blanket that was usually tossed across the sofa had been brought to the table seat, and the cup of cold tea nearest him had only been half consumed. In the light the tiny splotch of drool was made apparent on the side of Goyle's round face.

Malfoy breathed in. "Well," he exclaimed, "long time no see."

"Uh," Goyle started, trying to get a more proper look at his friend in general. There was something slightly sloppy behind his perfection, telling him that something wasn't right. But he'd missed his chance to analyze Draco's facial expressions further; Malfoy turned his back towards Goyle, ran his hand purposefully across his face, and plunged his hands into his trouser pockets. Still, he managed that business man like smile that he'd learned from his father. "Yeah, mate. It has been... what... three, four days?"

Draco shook his head, keen on lengthening the small talk, "surely, a whole week."

Goyle stood, dumbfounded. He felt slightly uneasy, even in his robe, and shifted there on the grounds of his own house. He ran his own hand through his short hair and raised an eyebrow. Then, swallowing, he nodded, deciding only not to make the situation more unsettling. "Ah," he agreed simply, rocking back and forth on the balls of his heels. He wasn't tired anymore and, quite frankly, Draco had captivated all of his current attention. He could sense that something was amiss, though could only bring himself to dodging immaturely around the subject. Instead he wrapped his mind around a different approach, settling with simply asking, "how have you been?"

His place seemed to work more quickly then he'd planned. Despite having watched Draco squirm at his spot across from him, his friend finally seemed okay with the notion of actually speaking up. "Actually," he said, looking up from the single spot he'd been so apt to staring at which was, after all, the floor boards, "that's what I came to tell you about?"

For a moment, Goyle considered the circumstances. He analyzed Draco Malfoy's face, trying to find some sense of sadness, but he could only sense such a feeling. Otherwise, there was nothing physical about this notion. In fact, Draco's smile only widened. He even managed to show his white teeth, beaming with such intensity that Goyle even felt proud of him for a moment. "Well," he said, growing more than only a little curious, "what is it, mate?"

"Goyle," Draco said, almost too quickly, "I'm getting married."

At once Goyle could feel his own smile brighten his face. He wasn't even slightly thinking of sleep anymore. "Married?" he beamed, "Draco-- that's... oh, wow, mate-- that's excellent! That's brilliant!" Stumbling over his own words, Goyle could hardly contain himself. He'd waited so long for this moment for his closest friend, wanted so long for him to move up and on with his life. "I... congratulations!" He thumped his chubby fingers over his forehead, breathed in heavily. "Who is she? I've not talked to you for a week and you're already making such progress!"

The sight of Goyle's instantly brightened atmosphere made Draco feel slightly more comfortable. For the first time in the night he'd forgotten about his fight with the woman on the radio, forgotten about all his worries about the arrangement in the first place. Goyle was right-- this was what was best for him, and everything was going to be alright from here. And, besides, he much enjoyed feeling uplifted and reassured; he hadn't felt such things in an admittedly long time. "You know her, Goyle," Draco laughed, excited for the first time.

Laughing, Goyle paced past Draco over to the cupboard, pulled out a bottle of wine and opened it with fast aggression. He poured two drinks, finally alright with the idea of permitting Draco, the addict, to do so. Because this, this time was a situation to celebrate. "Know her?" he chuckled, handing Draco his glass of wine before taking a sip of his. "Who is she?" Draco's eyes twinkled prematurely with the sparkle caused by the alcohol. He swallowed the wine spastically and lifted it higher as if to toast. Instead, he took a second swig, almost still uneasy. Though Goyle couldn't even slightly sense it now. He was certain that Draco was as happy and thrilled as ever. Standing opposite him, watching him smile for the longest time Goyle could have ever imagined, Goyle shook his head, still beaming, at his friend's anxiousness. "Well," Goyle asked again, excitedly curious, "who is she, mate?"

Draco nodded. "Pansy."

And all at once Goyle could feel the rush and thrill fade from his torso swiftly. No longer did he feel happy and excited for his friend. All he could manage to do was stand in front of him, dumb and stiff. For a moment, not even Malfoy noticed the drained appearance of his friend. He stood staring into the surface of his wine glass before finally looking back up at Goyle. "Pansy?" Goyle heard himself ask, his tone quivering and slightly on the timid side. "Like... Pansy- Pansy?"

Once again, Malfoy nodded.

"I..." Goyle said, though he could only hear himself say it, "I... wasn't aware that the two of you..."

"Neither was I!" Draco responded back. He stood still, taking to downing the glass of wine with quick intention. His face was beginning to drain, his nose brightening red as he drank the remainder of his already considerably large glass. "It just sort of happened. Just like you said, Goyle." When he looked up he was still smiling, even if it was false. "Just like you said since the beginning." Malfoy leaned forward, still blissfully unaware of Goyle's uneasiness, and poured himself a respectable amount of wine back into his glass. When the wine reached almost the very top of the glass, only then did he set it back down.

Gregory Goyle was, in all aspects, fading. He couldn't quite bring himself to drink the rest of his wine, couldn't even imagine doing such an act. Instead, he placed his glass aside, turned away from Draco and positioned himself at the countertop, his face away from Draco entirely. "I didn't mean that you should," he started, only stopping momentarily to consider if he should, in fact, bring himself to continue. "I didn't mean that you should... should marry Pansy."

Malfoy glanced up from his glass. "Yeah," he started slowly, "I didn't expect it either. It just happened."

"These things don't just happen," Goyle quipped. Then, laughing bitterly, he spat to himself, "Pansy."

The sense of pride seemed to leak from Malfoy's entire being. "I... Goyle? Goyle, aren't you... aren't you supposed to be... excited or happy? Or--"

"Or _what,_ Draco?" Finally Gregory Goyle whirled around from his position against the counter top. And whatever had happened to the two of them moments ago, when they were both so thrilled for one another, had completely vanished. Goyle's face was so red that he looked like a tomato. His eyes were glazed and slightly wet with what Draco hoped wasn't tears. What was going on? What had gone wrong in a little time of only a few moments? "I'm supposed to feel what? Please, enlighten me."

But Malfoy didn't understand. He placed his glass back down and looked immensely hurt, "Goyle, what's wrong? Did... did I do something wrong?"

"Yeah," Goyle nodded, not wasting any time to point it out to Malfoy, "yeah, Draco, you have done something wrong." He noticed Malfoy open his mouth, ready to ask what he was talking about in an innocently meek tone. But before he could stand to hear his voice again, Goyle etched forward, cutting him off with instantly angry aggression. "You and... and Pansy?" he started, shaking his head. He was flustered and anxious, but he could barely control his anger. "Pansy? Why... why Pansy, Draco, huh? Why her?"

Malfoy was sick with strangeness. He shifted, feeling himself loose any bit of happiness that he'd had previously. "I... Goyle... I don't know. She-- s-she j-just... proposed."

Upon hearing this, Goyle's face seemed to redden even more. He nodded, allowing his face to completely fall, and then took to shaking his head. He tossed his hands up in the air, as if blatantly giving up, and looked completely mad with despair. "Oh," he coughed, half between hysterics, "wonderful."

"Goyle," Draco started forward, finally pushing his wine glass to one side. "Goyle, please... what's going on?"

"Oh, don't pretend you don't know!" Goyle yelled, this time with a voice so harsh and hurt that Draco felt guilty without knowing exactly why. "Don't you _dare_ pretend you don't know."

"I don't," Malfoy informed him, timidly.

But Greg held up a hand, stopping Draco from approaching him any closer. "I have _always_ felt something for Pansy, Draco! Fuck..." he gripped the hair nearest his head, spun around slightly, and then paused, dropping his hand from his head bluntly. "And... and you knew that!"

Draco's head spun. He'd knew knew anything of the sort, never even suspected it. But the look in Goyle's sad eyes told him that Goyle was not lying, that he truly was... was in love with Pansy Parkinson. "Goyle, I didn't know. I- I had no idea. I--"

"No, don't fucking---" once he'd yelled it, Goyle seemed to regret his decision at once. He drew himself back, shook his head bitterly. Then he lifted a fat finger, directed it at Draco's chest. "If you took your attention off of liquor for once you might have noticed how I look at her! How I... I speak only good of her. Which... which you don't even do! All you ever--" Goyle caught sight of his friend's face, how it fell with every spat word. He retreated backwards once again, cocked his head towards the front doors, and said nothing more.

But Draco didn't move an inch. Instead he let his shoulders sink, looked as if he still didn't fully understand. "But this... this is what you wanted. I-I'm doing e-exactly what you prescribed! You said I should move on and that's what I'm doing. G-Goye I'm starting a new life, remember? I'm growing up, moving on... g-getting married!"

"To the woman _I_ love!" Goyle bellowed, lifting his glass of wine and whipping it in Draco's exceedingly pale face. The red color of the drink dripped down Malfoy's white button up, and yet blended in so well with the purple bruise on the side of his head. For a long while, Malfoy stood frozen, allowing himself to be drenched. He glanced down at his ruined clothing, surely shocked at Goyle's actions, and then finally breathed out.

When the passing moments seemed to drag on, he opened his eyes, blinked out the stinging presence of alcohol in his eyes, and tried again unsuccessfully, "Goyle, all I'm trying to do is be happy. All I'm trying to do is move on!"

And all Goyle could manage to choke was, "Draco, I need for you to leave. _Now_, okay? I need for you to leave now."

"No," Draco tried, stepping forwards, "no, please, listen to me."

"Draco, get the _hell_ out of my house!" Goyle merely stated. He was past yelling, past aggression. Simply, he thrust his finger towards the front of his house and waited. And Draco was merely lucky- lucky Goyle didn't sock him in the face, didn't add on to his already ample amount of heavy bruises. He stood across from Goyle, breathless, his arms loose and limp at his sides. For a moment he was useless and furthermore his legs couldn't move. Everything was falling apart and it wasn't supposed to be happening this way. This was all wrong, because everyone was supposed to be happy and congratulating him and smiling nonstop.

But this wasn't even slightly according to plan. This was the exact opposite. This was worse than he'd possibly imagined. So, because he was more numb beyond belief, he nodded, for it was all he could do, and made his way towards the front door, leaving Goyle and the wine glass utterly alone. And as he walked the certain pacing steps of shame, he could feel the world go to shit and the radio poking his side through his pocket.

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**Vonne: **REVIEW! :)


	21. Up in Blue

**Vonne: **Let's get right to it! :)

**Selenehkate: **Thank you! I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as the last ones, as well!

**Doni: **HAH! I tried to make it only slightly hint that Goyle might feel that way for Pansy, but I'm glad that you caught on!

**VoldyismyFather: **I felt bad for Goyle, too. :( But in the books I'd always imagined them together, too. HA!

**Isabella120: **Alright, I will update this today and the next as soon as possible! Thanks for the review. You reminded me! :)

**Dramione1996: **HA! I titled the last one 'Bliss' as in Ignorance. Ignorance = bliss. HA :)

**Mentarisenja: **Exactly! Both Goyle and Pansy were wrong in this, even is Draco doesn't see how he's ruining everything on his own. He didn't have to take everyone's advise, and he didn't have to drag Pansy, his family, and Goyle down along with him. Then again, his ignorance is what makes him a bit innocent. Either way, both of them are to blame. Because Goyle's definition of happiness and normality is way far off.

**Shining Bright Eyes: **I like that, how you put it there-- that Draco's blinded by the pursuit of his own happiness. Very true!

**Anavell: **Thanks! I'm really glad that you liked it. I hope you like this chapter just as much as the previous one, too! And I'm glad that you had a feeling that Goyle liked Pansy-- I definitely tried to 'hint' at that.

**Jade2099: **HA! Oh wow, I love that comparison. I didn't even realize that their conversation was a lot like "Moonlighting", but it was pretty similar! Either way, that was a compliment because Bruce Willis' and Sybil Shepherd's relationship in that show was hilarious.

Note: "Up in Blue" taken from the song titled, "Tangled up in Blue". :)

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**Chapter Twenty One:  
Up in Blue**

Over and over again, through the restless mind that belonged only to Draco Malfoy, the rhythm of the same sentence pounded repeatedly in his otherwise fuzzy head. "So," his mind asked him, daring and inquisitive, "is that it?"

Was the result of happiness that he'd so desperately strived for where he was currently? Pitched in a rut, walking down the gravel road from his best friend's house in a bitter daze, soaking wet in red wine that was moment by moment ruining his clothing? He tried to piece together where his brilliant plan broke but came up with no successes. Instead, he ran his forearm across his forehead, wiped his face free of the alcohol, and continued in his solemn stagger. What was it that went so blatantly wrong in this equation? Where, exactly, had he made his misstep? He'd been certain that he'd followed the guidelines, the previously set out steps that could have-- should have-- helped him achieve his goal. And yet he'd done nothing more than a completely useless three-sixty. His eyes found the protruding radio in his pant's pocket, glanced down angrily at it, and then turned away decisively.

And so then, why wasn't he starting down the road towards his house? Furthermore, he couldn't seem to tear himself away from the wandering that had led him down the absolutely incorrect detour. He kept his hands in the pockets of his jacket, as far away from the toy radio as possible, and thought maybe he could fix it. Much later than he'd expected, the sky was almost an unruly shade of black. Above him, the stars seemed like eye holes, for someone above to awkwardly peek through, as if to keep watch. Childish and a bit too characteristically immature, Draco Malfoy found himself wondering if Severus Snape was scrutinizing the situation at all.

For a moment he paused, staring at the cluster of trees ahead of him, half expecting to see Snape's looming black shadow push from the darkness, wearing a look of pure exhaustion. He'd tilt his head to the side, put on an all too serious look of annoyance, and ask Draco to, please, if he could, enlighten him- what exactly was he doing? But nothing of the sort came; no spectacle of the ghost of Severus Snape made its divine appearance. And, quite frankly, Malfoy stood in solitude with an overly disappointed fixture etched across his pale face.

Then again, he could always try the radio.

"Nonsense," he scolded himself out loud, shaking his head back and forth at his sheer stupidity, even laughed an almost too maniac one. Perhaps he was as exceedingly mental as everyone had so feebly suggested. At once he turned his thoughts from the thing, which he now regarded as putrid and silly. He even turned away from the clearing ahead of him, where he'd once expected to find Snape. Because, after all, why was it that he was always relying on other people to determine how his life should pan out? Wasn't it his life to lead? Wasn't it his hypothetical movie to direct?

In life, Snape once told him that all actions have consequences and all decisions need an action to follow up with. Of course, then Draco Malfoy had been knee deep in a grave he'd been working on digging for much longer than several hours. But even now, even unrelated to such choices as Voldemort and the Death Eaters and the whole Wizarding World in general, he could finally see the significance of it. What he needed to do was make a choice, act upon it, and face the consequences. So, curtly, he took to wandering along the detoured path, pushing through the road that was not so much a clearing as it was a hidden venture. Ducking occasionally, he pulled through the emerald brush, ignored the peep-holes that he only half regarded to be the stars, and felt comfort in the growing numbness that the bothersome radio caused in his side.

The house in the distance was large considering it only currently housed only one being. Even in the far distance he could just barely make out her figure, how lovely it was even from so far away. The dark lining that was nothing more of Pansy Parkinson walked by her window, blew out the candle that was the only existing light, and then vanished behind the blackness. Any sane man would have thought Draco crazy at this moment, more than any other moment in the world. Pushing on towards the blackness of the large home, he couldn't quite believe it himself. Whatever he was doing now, he blamed it on the wine; even though he'd barely had any of it, there was still enough left on his entire front to fully intoxicate him.

Either way he wasn't turning back, either way he was acting upon selfishness and desperation and greed. He couldn't do this, couldn't loose his best friend and, furthermore, couldn't loose himself. And while each passing step made him more and more dizzy with anxiety, still he didn't spin around and retrace them back to the main road, back to his house, back to his own bed. What surprised him, what actually shocked him more than anything, was how quick it took to get up to her house at all. Within moments he was standing on her porch, looking just as awful as he had the first time he'd shown up at random in the night. And, begrudgingly, he wondered if such appearances would become a habit to him or, at worse, already had become a habit to him.

He knocked because he hand to. Despite each simple pound sending quick jolts up his wrist, he knocked. And in the night he heard her clamor down the steps, could even hear her sigh aggressively through the thin walls of her own house, and waited until she leaned forward to pull open the front door. Though her attitude undoubtedly changed when she saw that it was her fiance standing at the porch in front of her. Her tired expression faded, replaced by a more uplifting and bright one. She smoothed her hair behind her ears, smiled wonderfully, and leaned back with flirtatious posture, "Draco," she mused girlishly, "what is with you showing up at my home so late at night?"

"Pansy," Malfoy could only manage to breath, half trying to squint as to not take her in fully, "I have to talk to you."

"Ah," Pansy smiled, still slightly distance from him, "well, does it have something to do with the fact that you're covered in red wine?" She cocked her pointed chin at Malfoy, an even wider beam spreading across her visage. And it struck him; Pansy Parkinson was not in love with him. Sure, she thought that she was but, really, he couldn't see why or, most importantly, how. He'd never been anything but a presence over the past couple years and it was even perhaps safer to say that he wasn't fully there. For the majority of the time that Pansy Parkinson had spent with Draco Malfoy, there was not truly much to get to know.

He came out with his thoughts so quickly, that the moment she'd heard him speak her entire seductive fixture melted. "Pansy," he breathed, "you're not in love with me."

Pansy blinked. For a beautiful woman, confusion was not a look that rested well on her face. "What are you talking about?" she asked him, giving him a look that was more angry than hurt. Despite herself, she was pressing her torso forward, gripping her hip as if to remain even slightly balanced. "Are you drunk?"

Malfoy paused. Did he in fact have to be drunk to come up with such a revelation? "No," he clarified sheepishly, looking down at his shoes, now nothing more than the likes of what they used to be. "I'm not. But I am sure of it, Pansy. You're not in love with me just as much as..." then came the difficult part. He winced, mentally hitting himself for it. But the woman on the radio was right, as much as he loathed himself for admitting it, even silently. He couldn't bring her down with him- couldn't subject her to this misery. Even a woman like Pansy didn't deserve such treatment. Sure, she was cruel and selfish and vain, but Malfoy wasn't good for her, wasn't truly good for anybody, really. And, all things bluntly considered, he knew that he had to come out with it. "You're not in love with me.... just as much as I'm not in love with you."

"What's gotten in to you?" Pansy spat, seemingly awkward at the oncoming silence. "What the hell are you talking about?" There was no trace of ever having loved him in her tone. In fact, she sounded more like she wanted to murder him than anything. Her lovely eyes were not so lovely as they burned lively with the flames of rising fire. She cocked her head inside and Draco stepped in, wincing once she'd shut the door behind them. In the darkness, her voice cut through the air like a hurdling knife. "We've been through this before. Twice now, I presume."

"Yes," Malfoy whispered, feeling more sheepish than ever. Perhaps he shouldn't have come. Perhaps he shouldn't have remembered the stupid radio or Severus Snape. "But, I... I was lying to you then and..."

"You we're _lying_ to me." Pansy merely stated, repeating his sentence back to him out loud as if waiting to see whether or not he could hear the stupidity in it. "What does that even mean?"

What did it mean? Surely, she'd had a point. "I'm not sure, exactly," Draco continued, beginning to regret even coming to her house in the first place. But he'd been stupid, been selfish and blind. What good was aiming to better oneself if the only solution was regression? And more and more he figured that damned woman on the other end of that silly little toy was right-- he was absolutely mental. What right did it give him to mess with someone else? And for his own personal benefit, even? "I just know that... that I can't marry you, Pansy. And I'm so sorry."

An immense stretch of silence laced the two of them together while, at the same time, drew them further apart. Inside her temples Pansy could feel the blood rush through her veins. Eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, she located the figure of her now ex-fiance, and planned on hexing him right then and there. "What is it?" she finally asked, hate and detest growing behind her otherwise unfaltering voice, "why don't you like me? Why haven't you ever liked me?"

Draco could feel his own pulse slow down. Everything about his entire being seemed to freeze over. Even beside her icy tone of voice, he felt like he wanted only to stumble towards her, wrap his arms around her. She'd been his friend for as long as he could even stand to remember. She was wrathful and at times awful, but more than often he'd known her to be almost exactly like him in every way possible. He said, denying everything that he knew, "we're two different people now, Pansy. I... I'm not like my father. I'm not anything like I used to be." But that wasn't true and he knew it, even saying it aloud he knew the falseness of it. He was just as deceitful and cunning as he'd always been, just as selfish and sly. And even when he'd tried so much to stray away from it, it had never even deviated from him in the first place. Shoulders lowering solemnly, he felt almost sore in his moment of complete disappointment.

Pansy tossed her head back, forced a nonchalant laugh. "You could be on to something, Draco. Because you may very well be the most insufferable person I've ever had the displeasure to know." When Malfoy didn't bother to defend himself, she continued roughly, "I've thrown myself on you... and finally, just finally you agree to be with me. And so I accepted that. But you're right. I could sense something off about you... sense that you were someplace... someplace inferior. Inferior like the rest of them. Inferior like _Potter_ and the Ministry."

"Potter?" Malfoy asked, still wincing at the sheer distaste that plagued him as he said the name, "Potter and the Ministry? What are you talking about?" He'd known, of course, that even though Pansy wasn't still a Death Eater, she'd have jumped at the chance to form such ideas up again. And why wouldn't she? The promised that Voldemort had made to the whole lot of them had been perfect and unimaginable. A moth, trapped to the flame, she'd been captivated by the lies and still, after all this time, believed such a thing was obtainable. But this Draco knew, still knew and had always known. Either way, the comparison to Harry Potter seemed to sting him bitterly.

"I'm talking about Potter and... and Weasley and... fucking _Granger_." She croaked, her eyes now finally filling with long awaited tears. Almost embarrassed, she smoothed them away from her eyes, wiping them on her silk robe aggressively. Then, nodding, she added spitefully, "you're right. Maybe I don't know a single thing about you."

But still Draco couldn't deny the twisting pain that ached in his chest. Feeling heated and slightly delusional on his own, his only thought was, in fact, to rush forward and hold her. But he didn't move, remained rooted to the grounds of her marble flooring until the silence was almost simply too much to take. Longingly, eyes beginning to moisten with fresh tears of his own, Malfoy stepped forward, shook his head timidly. "Pansy..." he offered desperately, "please, don't cry. You don't want anyone like me, anyways. I'm all... here. I'm..."

"Crazy," Pansy stated for him. "Absolutely, one hundred percent off your bloody rocker."

Malfoy froze. Sinking slightly, he asked her figure that stood there unmoving in the darkness, "huh?"

"At first," Pansy continued, speaking almost too quickly after he'd finished talking, "I'd ignored what everyone else was telling me... what the... the _word_ was around the block. They said you'd lost your mind. People were actually _saying _that, Draco. And then with the therapist..."

"The therapist?" Malfoy choked, feeling instant humiliation flush over him, "how do you know about the therapist?"

Pansy huffed frustrated, "I was your future fiance!" she reminded him frankly, "your mother simply mentioned that you..."

"You got into a conversation with my mother about... about my personal...?" For the most part, Draco was completely oblivious to the fact that he'd been stammering for the past several minutes now. His face took on a new color of pale, further showing off his blunt embarrassment. "W-When?"

"Does it matter?" Pansy shouted back, the first time she'd actually truly done so. She looked like she was going to pull out her hair. So deranged was her appearance that she almost looked absolutely unrecognizable. "Well I'm telling you right now it doesn't. The fact is I ignored the obvious _signs._ Because I was so blindsided by... by... I don't even know anymore! And the crazy thing is... the absolutely mad part about this whole thing, is that I actually thought you were sane behind all that gossip?"

Despite himself, Malfoy heard his voice echo, "and now?"

"Now?" Pansy laughed, growing red in the face. She wasn't crying anymore, but her cheeks were stained of their past presence. She placed both her arms tightly across her heaving chest, looking as if she were about to sincerely jump on him and rip him to pieces. "Now I'm all for the idea. You coming over her to tell me such... such nonsense. That, Draco, is proof enough right there."

And finally Draco Malfoy couldn't help himself. The massive lump in his throat was aggressive and persisting. No longer could he feel his limbs. He was melting and he wasn't entirely sure that he could take it. And it wasn't only Pansy, but it was Goyle and the woman on the radio. How was he going to tell his parents? How was he going to take back all the damage that he'd caused with Goyle, his best friend through his entire adolescence? Had he been this blindsided with the idea of happiness that he'd managed to completely wreck up everyone else's lives in the process? An entirely new wave of self loathing washed over him, almost knocked him down off of what seemed like jellied legs. Nausea persisted ruthlessly, a tidal wave of green took over his morose face.

His blond hair fell limply in front of his forehead, the last of his being to completely deflate. What was left now but complete misery? He'd thought he'd seen it all, thought nothing could get more worse, but this was it-- now he'd lived through what he'd been so sure was utterly impossible. He'd hit rock bottom. "Now, I need you to leave, alright?" Pansy swallowed a large lump in her throat, the only thing truly keeping her from tearing him apart. "I need you to leave my house."

"Please," he found himself begging, "don't be angry with me, okay? I.. I made a mistake. A stupid mistake and it's absolutely my fault. You're right about me, Pansy," he pleaded, "maybe there is something wrong with me that I haven't been seeing."

"That is absolutely the case," Pansy nodded. "Now I'm giving you to the count of five." She leaned over him, pushed the front door back open with one forceful hand, and then shifted her weight. Responsively, Draco backed up. He wiped his face, placed both palms on the side of his forehead as if he were in fact truly loosing it. And then, once he was out of the way, Pansy smiled degradingly and swung the front door so aptly shut that the slam caused a slight wind to fly in front of Draco's face. The noise rung in his ears even when he'd heard her retreating footsteps ascend the stairs once again, completely vanishing out of sight.

And that was it, what he was sure he'd had to do only a short while ago. Yet another brilliant plan of his having gone to shit. With newfound anger he dug the little radio out of his pocket and thrust it with full force against the dirt ground. The thing clattered across the gravel, made a slight skid, and then sat still in the night. But whatever had possessed him to do so instantly faded. He slid forward, moving with an excessively slow pace, and retrieved the radio in one hand, staring down at it as if it had caused nothing but absolute pain in his life.

Then, pressing his aching back against the thickest and most near tree trunk he could find, he slid to the floor with a miserable groan. Defeated, he pressed his head backwards against the bark and kept his fingers tight around the Muggle object, something he only slightly wished he'd never found in the first place. And there he sat for several hours before the night dragged on. When finally he picked himself up, dragged his aching body across the dirt, and redirected himself on the path home.

* * *

Everything was hazy and blurred and forming together to make one big image. Draco leaned forward, scanned the scenery in the sepia toned light, and took one big breath in. His fingers were blue and wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle that was only half full. Shaking slightly, he leaned forward and examined the squiggly bartender, whose only look in his direction was that of disapproval. On his own he stretched his body towards Draco, pried the bottle from his hand, and tossed it over his shoulder like an irresponsible child. But, not to worry, Draco lifted a free finger and pointed at the surface of the bar, keen on ordering another. It is the bartender, however, who did not deliver. He shook his head and put on a demeaning expression, "I think you've had enough," he advised, all too content with delivering to Malfoy the cliche. Draco's face fell unwillingly downward on impact. Perhaps it was not a good sign when the person who refuses to sell drinks is the bartender himself.

"Oy!" Someone who sounded like the far distance is shouting in my direction. Draco ignored his call towards him and he leaned forward, attempting to receive a drink despite the bartender's refusal. His plan, however, didn't go considerably swimmingly. He missed the surface of the bar by a long shot and completely slid off of the stool, colliding to the floor with one, rag doll-like flop. Uncharacteristically he giggled, despite his sensibly utter embarrassment, and didn't bother to pick up his pride-less pieces. The same voice that had shouted at him before inquired over the current bustle, "isn't that the Malfoy boy?"

On the ground Draco's entire body sunk into the floorboards. Previously in the night he'd felt rather accomplished towards making it thus far without having been recognized. However, such a detection was nonetheless inevitable. His mind told me, "Draco, you're intoxicated. It's only plausible that you've come to be surprised at the expected." Though his reasoning didn't do him much good. He was hoisted up from the ground from under his arms and, despite swinging around to avoid being cornered, the two men on either side of him had him locked in quite an admirably strong position.

A new face leaned in, scrutinized his front momentarily, and then backed away placing his hands on his grotesquely wide hips. He confirmed their suspicions and noted above the clamor, "that's him alright." At once, Malfoy swung his shoulder back unsuccessfully, and proceeded inform them that they would very much regret it if they did not let him go at once. This, however, only enticed them in a choir of laughs, further heating Draco's frustration. What he'd come to realize about himself, even five whole years after the Battle, is that he'd become less fueled by hostility and more by the need to carry on unnoticed.

Draco slurred, "I'm advising you, gentlemen, to let me go at once." Truly, he didn't know why he'd decided to throw in the flattery aspect to his threat, but there it was, at once out there like his current physical appearance, drenched in red wine and a further killed pride. So maybe he _didn't_ go directly home. But he'd had to go someplace and the bar had seemed suitable... or at least it had a moment ago-- perhaps when he'd had too much wine thrust in his face already to be able to make a perhaps better choice. Of course he couldn't go out and about unrecognized! And, bitterly, he swore at himself for not remembering the scarf, coat, and hat.

His eyes were glassy and his nose was running like a faucet sink. He looked like a jumbled waiter, black tie undone and sitting like a scarf around his shoulders. The front of his white shirt was only half untucked into his black trousers. Like a dog owner, he commanded the mutts, "now," but this only further amused them. His human support at his right had been laughing so hard that he'd doubled over, forcing Draco Malfoy down along with him. "Imbecile," Draco muttered, now crunched with his eyes in a level position with the floor. He swallowed hard, tried to will himself up another drink, and when his strong desire only proved to obviously fail, he had to reconsider how intoxicated he truly was.

What he remembered was wandering home from Pansy's. Or, at least, the very last mile or so. He'd stood at the fork of the road, contemplating home or Hogsmeade. Now, mentally murdering himself, he loathed his decision, wished for once that he possessed the admirable ability to pass up on a cheap drink. "Well," one of the men around him slurred, just as drunk, if not even more so that Draco himself, "why is it we haven't seen your pretty little face around lately?"

"I'd advise you to consider that yourself," Malfoy grunted, being slightly flopped around by the amused men at his sides. "Actually," he added begrudgingly, "I think that your question falls under what most would consider rather obvious."

The fat man, stuffed underneath his sweater to hide his possessive hip to waist ratio leaned forward. There was not truly a look of hostility in his face, but just perhaps minimal anger overtook by a sense of overwhelming inquiry. "Hiding your face?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed. There was a slight touchiness about his eyes and a scar imprinted across his chubby face. For a moment Draco considered that he'd acquired it from the battle, but he couldn't recognize the man, and didn't desire to anyways. However, for the benefit of feeling slightly sorry and maybe even responsible for his damaged visage, Draco swallowed what was left of his pride, allowed himself to be sloppily supported, and dropped his own hostile grimace.

"That," he said, nodding with complete honesty, "would be he idea, mate."

But then again, it could have only been the drink that was making him so sensible. For a near man leaned in, stepping down from his barstool, and pressed his face so close to Draco's that he could not ignore the intense smell of liquor on his breath. "How much have you had tonight, Malfoy?" he asked, a bit concerned. And his worry was a slight refreshment from the exceedingly amused drunks surrounding him. His face seemed to swell with every passing moment. Draco could swear that the man before him had four eyes, a lopsided frown, and a forehead that was impossibly never ending.

And now they could see him for... for what? For what he was? A sad pathetic drunkard who'd spent five years, if not more, of his life wallowing in self pity and self loathing. While Malfoy should have been embarrassed, he took most of his time worrying about whose shoes he might get sick on. How much _had_ he had to drink over the course of the night? Part of him wanted to lean in, respond to the questioning man with, "that, sir, is quite a good question," but only found the ability to slur something random out uselessly. A third uproar of laughter boomed out around him and everyone seemed rather amused.

Malfoy thought spastically, "was this it?" Was this his night's worth? Spent drunk in a bar with a lot of blokes he had no desire to accompany himself with? And it wasn't even out of superiority. He realistically didn't want to be around them because, in all aspects, he felt _inferior, _if anything a bit unworthy. He could hear Goyle saying in the background of his head, "what a successful revelation!" and perhaps he would truly be congratulating him if he weren't so _mad._

Then the room spun. Wobbling and uneasy, he yanked his slender arms around, once again rather unsuccessfully. But then again, none of them could say he didn't warn them. He arched forward, felt the bile rise up in the back of his throat, and just barely missed the man in front of him by half an inch. A loud, "ooohhh!" rang through his ears and he sank a bit lower, a newfound rush of pallor flooding his entire face. "Marvelous, Malfoy!" a loud voice in the crowd cheered, "I think you've mastered the self-loathing to a--"

"Oh."

As a brand new shadow push its way through the crowd, the outrageous fit of laughter died. The figure was looming and a bit daunting, even with most of its glory whacked out of it years ago. There, standing straight and stiff and furious, was Lucius Malfoy, his fingers tight above his walking stick, his face distorted in a mixture of horror and anger. In all his blurry vision, Draco could barely make out the shape of his father, but once the tightness loosened around his arms, he was sure that he'd had a pretty good idea of his father's overwhelming presence.

What he wanted to do and what he could manage to do came out as two totally different things. While his desire was to stand up, excuse the mess for a flu, and walk out with his father alone, he pulled off accomplishing the very opposite. He fell slightly more loose underneath the supporting men, and coughed a bit more, trying to pull himself to his feet at if he'd never taken a stroll anywhere before.

"Get up," Lucius instructed his only son. In the surrounding crowd, he waited for Malfoy to oblige. But a mere pin could have been heard drop in all the silence. And when his son didn't move, Lucius drove himself forward, grabbed tightly ahold of his collar, and yanked him to his feet with one hefty lift. He turned a tight turn towards the bar tender, who looked absolutely stunned behind the counter top. It had been, of course, quite a while since the Wizarding World had seen Lucius Malfoy and, even in their superiority to him nowadays, his presence was still daunting. "What's he owe you?" he asked stiffly, holding Malfoy up by his shoulders now, only just slightly more gentle.

"Err---" the man stammered, slightly uneasy on his own. He scanned the bar top, realizing that he could, if he so wanted, just throw out a high number without being detected, but decided on saying timidly, "I lost count..." With that, Lucius shoved his hand into the pocket of his cloak, pulled out a hefty about of bills, and tossed them on the counter without a second thought. Then, he took hold of his son, pushed him out the door with boiling fury, and the two exited the bar to the sound of absolute nothingness.

Once outside, Lucius Malfoy strayed down the nearest alley, ignoring the inconsistent moans that emulated from Draco's throat, and shoved him up against the brick wall. Against it, Draco could only slightly hear the bustle of the bar indoors pick up again. Outside, the streets were devilishly bare. "Tell me," Lucius' said through Draco's ears, "what the hell is going on!" His eyes were burning, but slightly remorseful at the same time. It was as if something had broken, a sense of pride perhaps or, even, a bitter realization about his son. "Now!"

However, Malfoy's stance was weak at best. He pressed his throbbing head backwards, blinked the haziness from his eyes, and shook his head innocently, "what's going on?"

He stood, positive that his father was going to scold him about his night out, about how he'd never expected to see him in such an awful state. There swaying in front of his father, even against the brick wall, Malfoy could have prepared himself for such an argument, even planned on telling his father how he just lost track of time.

"Pansy just stopped by the house several hours ago--- in hysterics. She's informed your mother and I that you have _broken off_ the engagement!" Oh. So Draco didn't have to consider how to inform his family then, did he? No, now he'd only had the minimal time to think up a proper excuse for his actions. He was, of course, not given much of a time period to do so. The raging flames behind his father's gray eyes, the very same eyes that Draco Malfoy himself had inherited from him since birth, seemed intense and extended. Lucius Malfoy's face was so red that he looked almost unlike himself in every way. And the redness in his father's eyes was obvious, even despite the drinking. And Lucius' hands on Draco's shoulders weren't as strong as he knew they could be.

When Draco said nothing to defend himself with, Lucius started again, heated, "Draco, when I _asked _you if you truly wanted to _marry_ Pansy, you told me that he did. You _looked me straight in the eye_ and told me that you wanted to start a life with this woman!" The silvery blond hair that had become a trademark of the Malfoy's fell limply over Lucius' face. "You looked me _in the eye."_

Perhaps it was due to the fact that his son wasn't answering, but Lucius took it as a hint to keep talking. He shook his head, fiercely with stern apprehension, and backed away, only slightly. His visage was so intensely outraged, that he looked as if he were about to burst. "I knew it! I knew that when you told me such, that there was something wrong. But I thought that perhaps I'd been wrong. Turns out you we're just---"

"I had a good reason," Draco tried, slurring and pathetic.

"Bullshit!" Lucius hissed. Then, with a gust of anger, he released his son, watching him stumble forward on impact. And with that, he tore himself away, leaving Draco Malfoy against the brick wall.

* * *

**Vonne: **REVIEW! :)


	22. The Voice on the Other End

**Vonne: **Let's get right down to it, then!

**Allison: **Thank you for all your reviews! I'm glad that you enjoyed reading this whole thing all the way through-- that's really a lot to read. HA! So, really I took all your efforts as a compliment, trust me. Anyways, your reviews reminded me of how fast I used to update this. So, I thought-- why not? Hopefully you enjoy this chapter just as much as the previous ones!

**Voldyismyfather: **Thanks! I hope you like this one too. I tried to make it on the longer and eventful side! :)

**Shinning Bright Eyes: **I am really glad you liked the part with Lucius. I'd spent a while on it, trying to get it to be as realistic as possible. The thing is, I didn't want to make Lucius seem more angry than hurt, because he was both, but in the sense of a father. You know? :)

**Doni: **Exactly! That's exactly what I wanted to try and pull off-- Draco hitting true rock bottom. Maybe it'll explain as to why the first chapter was so dramatic in its contents after all.

**Anavell: **Thank you! :) I hope you like this chapter, too!

**Jade2099: **HA! Yes, the wrath of Lucius is one, as we all know, that is not to be messed with! AHA! Your Draco being a puppy bit made me laugh. Clever! :)

Now, finally, chapter twenty two!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Two:  
The Voice on the Other End**

"Testing, testing, one two three."

In the darkness came a voice that was so loud over the whooshing wind, that it would have been unmistakable if there had been anyone around to hear it. It was a voice that had been, at one point in its life, proud and arrogant and unbreakable, however, the crackling raspy undertone signified that something had gone horribly array. When he tested the Muggle device in the palm of his perspiring hand, his voice broke carelessly and he ran his free hand through his mess of hair, trying again. "If you are listening to this, then you're too late. By the time you can act, I'll already be dead." Overall, considering the surroundings, the man did not seem to fully blend in. While the sky was dark and churning and angry, the tall man was lean and still and obliging; he let the wind move his bow tie, which rest completely undone around his neck. He looked oddly pure in his white button-up shirt, which was rolled up to way past his elbows, and his mop of white blond hair; however, he was everything but. Despite his innocent presence, something desperate and knowing flickered in his eyes and, shakily, he wiped away sweating visage. On the forearm of his free wrist, a certain skeletal mark stood out unquestionably on his pale skin.

It hadn't been a long walk from the alley way behind the pub to the bridge that he was standing over. Peering down towards the bottom of it, he was sure that it wasn't too, too much of a drop, but of course the impact would surely kill him. Either way, he was beyond intoxicated, swaggering heavily, and more than ready to leap from the bridge's edge. Because, in all consideration, Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly sure how he could hit rock bottom any further, he'd thought, why not test out his theory. There surely were a plethora of rocks below him now and, smiling sickly to himself, he considered how far towards rock bottom he could actually get. At the ready, his foot trailed forwards, his hands loosening on the bridge's thin pillars. He informed the presence in the radio, "as I'm sure you know, it has been five years since the battle and no, I am not all right. But you already know that."

She didn't answer back, but he knew she was there; he could tell by her rhythmic breathing that filled the speakers around him. She breathed as if she were running, or tired. He added, "and since you already know this, I will be merciful and considerably spare you the details," making sure to emphasize the word 'since', because it was only due to these specific circumstances. Nonetheless, he listened to her breath, lingered forward with a stroke of eagerness, and then thrust himself backwards, only pretending that he wasn't quite sure. He was undoubtedly drunk and had, of course, carried himself a bit farther than he'd intended when he'd took the wrong path at the fork in the road earlier that night. He considered the situation timidly; if he'd woken up this very morning thinking that his day was going to pan out like this, then maybe he wouldn't have brought himself up out of bed at all. He'd fought with the woman on the radio, Goyle, and broken off an engagement. On top of that, he'd never seen his father so furious with him.

Around him, the air only slightly whirled around playfully. The scenery was beautiful in a dooming sort of way- exempt for such a determining night in the life of one Draco Malfoy. He gazed up at the brewing storm ahead, the sky churning like a cranky child that didn't get its way. It was perfect, almost impossibly fitting for such an evening. There, as he stepped out forwards once again, Draco laughed harshly at the cliche. In order to give himself something to do, he busied himself with the task of sweeping his hair back behind his ears. He was, as it so seemed, a man of stone, but if that had been true, why did he feel himself crumbling?

Then the laughter started. First it was oncoming, as the storm, and then he found that he couldn't help himself. As his eyes slightly watered, he coughed out tiny specks of laughter with each passing moment. The sound of his giggles and the beat of the woman on the other end of the radio got to him, however, and he stopped quite quickly. His moment of play was over. This time he was more than exceedingly serious. Straightening his posture, Draco told the Muggle toy's listener, "I want you to know that I am sorry, and that it doesn't mean much but I am sorry. It's true that I was absolutely dealt the cards I grew up with. But that doesn't mean I had to play."

At the absence of any answer, Draco tried, "testing, testing, one, two, three," but came up rather unsuccessful.

He mulled the very moment over again in his head. Even standing there, ready to jump, he couldn't quite believe it. Years ago, Draco would have not even believed himself if he'd known that suicide was in his future somewhere-- he'd never been the type. Moping and depressed and anxious, all this was new and a bit horrifying to him. And even over the past several years he hadn't quite gotten used to it. The lack of ego and pride was one thing, but self loathing had never truly hit him home until the night on the roof, when he was content with falling. Now starting down at the bottom of the bridge he was reminded of that very moment at well, considered the drop to be only several feet deeper. Oh well, it wouldn't matter in a moment.

Drunk with the rush of suicide as well as the heavy amount of alcohol in his bloodstream, Draco continued in an uneasy ramble, "what I want you to know- what I want the world to know- is that I remember every little thing about the battle at the school. I told the media that all I can remember is how tight his shoes were, because I everything else makes me numb. But you know as well as I that that was a lie." Then, spitefully, he spat, "when I got home, the first thing I could think of doing was to burn those shoes." He shook his head, slightly embarrassed at his rambling, but only slightly. He was about to die anyway; in several moments he, Draco Malfoy, was about to not exist. So, what did it matter if this humiliation was going to get to him? What did it matter when he was buried six feet under? I don't know why I tell you the things that I do. I've tried to convince myself that it is a merely convenience. Maybe that is true, but I doubt it." He laughed, meekly, "I thought for a while it was because you were a good listener. All you ever _do_ is listen."

He then looked at his arm; his long slender forearm that was so pale that it looked almost angelic against the night sky. Across the skin that was stretched out against his bone was the Dark Mark, his permanent scar, the forever reminder. Even now, he wanted to physically tear it off of his bone. "As for this _dammed mark,_ it's unfortunately permanent. However," he once again peeked over the edge, "once I jump, I doubt it will concern me anymore." And then he grew comfortable. He crossed his legs at the ankle and slightly leaned backwards. "I don't know if I believe in Heaven or Hell, but I sure hope I don't go to Hell, though I reckon I don't truly have a choice in the matter." He said with a casual shrug, "believe it or not, I've always been pretty spiritual, but I do believe I am rambling."

The sky was beginning to serve as more than an obvious warning- it was probably not best to be outside with the storm so close to arriving now. Malfoy looked up, scanning the angry skies and wondered if he'd live to see the first raindrop. A slight chill ran down his spine; what a strange thing it was to stand and know that any moment there would be nothing left of you-- soul-wise, at least. Sure, Draco Malfoy would be only just a fallen corpse, but that was it. If he wasn't found any time soon, he may even sink into the earth. Swooning, Malfoy bitterly wished he hadn't drunk so much. Perhaps then he'd have much more sense, perhaps then he'd been laying in his bed, underneath the covers, away from the storm and the bridge and the rocks below it.

But the notion that it wasn't the liquor was what horrified him, truly. Because, at least with it he'd had an excuse. He paused, anxious, and chewed curiously on his bottom lip. After a long while he said into the device, "I know you're there."

He stopped for another moment and then leaned forward emitting a curious whisper, saying anxiously, "_who_ are you?

He said desperately, "answer me!"

And then the breathing stopped. Nothing more was left on the other end of the radio but complete silence and the notion of being completely and utterly alone made Draco more terrified than ever. However, it was something new that greeted him altogether; a general shoving sound pushed its way through the bushes. Something light crunched down on a discarded twig. It wasn't the crackle of thunder, and it wasn't the drop of the first bout of rain. Standing steady in the distance, Draco could just barely make out a shadow, a figure that was slim and panting and still. Wrapped in its tiny fingers was the small square outline of a handheld radio.

"Don't!" cried the voice in an overly desperate tone, "Malfoy, don't! Don't jump!"

A mixture of things flooded through Malfoy at once, so much so that he'd almost accidentally lost his balance. There she was, standing before him in person, though hidden beyond the darkness of the night. She held her hands out, as if trying to signal for him to remain completely still, but either way her voice rung out, making him slightly woozy even if she hadn't meant for it to do so. And the sound of it-- that voice in general. Surely, he'd heard it someplace before. Where had he known that voice?

"Please!" the sound of her calling out to him rung through his aching ears again. "Please, Malfoy! Don't jump!"

She stepped forwards once again, one leg over another, slowly but surely pulling herself into the light. Her long hair was whipping around her face everywhere. In the darkness she appeared pale and oddly holy, his technologically linked savior in a dull blue cardigan.

How'd she know his name? Standing there feeling a bit stupid, Draco couldn't quite understand it. How'd she figure out who he was when he'd been so clueless about her person the entire time? And even now, watching her stand there in the shadows before him, even when he knew he'd heard that kind voice before, he still couldn't pin point it. Maybe if he'd been sober or sane. Maybe if he hadn't been standing on the edge of a tall and dangerous bridge.

Then, out of the blue, she stepped forward fully, her long hair now obviously brunette, her eyes now surely a deep shade of intense brown. There she was, Hermione Jean Granger, looking beautiful and desperate all at the same time. Her hands were out in front of her chest, which heaved up and down for she'd been running as long as she could remember. Her eyes were wide with fear, her face flushed with red. There was no confusion on her face; she looked as if she'd known it was him the entire time. "Draco, listen to me..."

But how could he listen to her when he couldn't hear a single thing anymore? The world's strangeness had completely doubled. He'd been spilling his secrets to Hermione? Hermione Granger was the one who he'd been talking to the entire time? Hermione Granger who he'd presumably had a everlasting grudge against? He couldn't hear her call out, surely. As a matter of fact, he could barely contain himself. His posture weakened and his fingers loosened unwillingly on the bars around the edge of the bridge. He could feel himself going under the bit of unconsciousness caused by the shock and the confusion and the excessive amount of liquor.

And before he knew it he was out, having passed out completely only moments before his body slumped forward and freed itself from the bridge's edge for good.

* * *

Lying in a haziness of black, Draco Malfoy was sure of it: he was dead. And perhaps this was what being dead felt like- miserable, with an overlying headache. His body was still sore and he thought bitterly that death was not, as he'd hoped, peaceful at all. He braced himself to open his eyes, to see himself in Hell, unprepared and lined up to await a million deaths over and over again. But not such torment came to him. Quite the opposite, rather; he'd came to on his back, resting on something that felt only like gravel, wincing up at the voice that was shrill and anxious and belonging to Hermione Granger.

"Oh, thank God!" she cried once she noticed Draco's face flicker. He could feel her lean backwards, for she was that close to him, and heard her clasp her hands over her head and breathe out relentlessly. Malfoy pried his eyes open, still adjusting to the haziness that dominated his entire vision. Next to him, Hermione sank lower to the floor, her face flushed and red. Then, after a long while, she released her fingers around her wand, let the thing drop to the gravel below her, and sighed out loud, "shit. Oh, shit."

"You?" Malfoy hiccuped, because he'd already made much of a fool of himself already. "Y-You were on the other end of the radio?" His voice was croaky and a bit too high-pitched. When he spoke the scraping feeling of soreness ached in the back of his throat. He asked the sky like a whiney child, "... h-how is that even possible?"

But Hermione was hysterical. She'd grabbed her head and had utterly refused to let it go. Around her face, she wiped away the sweat that pooled down shimmering from her forehead. "You're a right bastard," she told him, pointing a finger at him on the ground. She shook with every sentence she spat out at him, her eyes quivering in the darkness of the night. "What the _hell_ is the matter with you? I mean... suicide? _Suicide?" _

But Malfoy was hardly paying attention to Hermione's scolding. He stared up at her, more than terminally shocked, and found that he was almost too uneasy to move. His blond hair was sprawled out behind him, for it was not too long, though it just hung about a half an inch below his earlobes. His eyes were watering, though he was sure that it was only from the shock mixed in with the liquor, and there was a whirlwind of rush that waved through his buzzing head. Queasy and uneasy, he remained pitched on his back, staring up at her, completely dumbstruck. "You were on the other end of the radio?"

Hermione's face twisted. She looked up from the palms of her hands, glared down at him mercilessly, "would you forget about the damn radio for two minutes? I just had to levitate your body to the ground after you jumped off of the fucking--- never mind. Just... just give me a second, alright?" For the third time Hermione let her breath out slow and uneasy. She clamped her hands around her temples yet again and left Malfoy to his own wonder. Slowly, she removed her legs out from underneath her and let herself sit up slightly like a rag doll, loose and almost floppy.

Only a short while of silence morphed into a long drawn out moment of it. It could have lasted for an hour, nothing but the twisting sound of the illusive sky. Hermione was surely not going to be the first to say anything. In fact, she seemed quite content in her own personal solitude, gripping her throbbing head and sitting as if she could possibly pass out at a moment's notice. Limply she flopped forward, released her hands down from her head and it was more than obvious that she was shaking dramatically. Her brunette hair was wild around her pale face. Her flushed visage was overly anxious.

Malfoy didn't bother to lift himself up from the ground. Instead, the expression on his face was a mark of his confusion enough. He slurred with intoxicated ramblings, "you knew this whole time?"

"No, I didn't know this whole time," Hermione hissed, still perched between her own palms. She tossed her head back, groaning a little, and then positioned herself to a sitting point that seemed more comfortable. Somehow, however, she managed to calm herself. Speaking a bit more easily, Hermione seemed to be slightly more controlled in her sensible self. "I just only figured it out... only after your last bit of information you'd given me. Though I don't see why it took me so long to do so. It was_ obvious_." The amount of hatred in her voice was notable to say the least. She glared at him through the opening of her fingers.

Malfoy made an unsatisfied glare. "Wasn't obvious to me," he whispered to himself, still staring back up at the sky ahead of him. "You could have... you could have said something."

"Turns out you were a bit unavailable, considering you were standing on the edge of a damn _bridge." _With that, Hermione kicked the dirt on the ground on front of her. Her eyes blazed when she turned back to him, further adding, "you know? Considering the circumstances. I didn't think then was exactly the most ideal _time." _

Malfoy's chest heaved up. He was, in all physical aspects, chilly in his absolute pallor. The deep dark bags underneath his gray eyes were growing far worse with every passing moment and his paleness seemed to take on a whole new meaning to the shade of green. So he bitterly appeared as he felt-- an intoxicated mess, a bit nauseated on the floor of the harsh gravel. Still, with Hermione groaning miserably to herself above him, he tried to keep the need to hurl to a minimum. Though he wasn't doing such an admirable job of keeping such feelings on the down low, however. He lifted his own hands once he managed to pull himself only slightly out of his state of shock, pressed his eyes tight together, and once again opened them to the blurred vision of a more than begrudged Hermione.

"And, you know," she was saying, "what... what gives you the right to know who I am, anyways? Why should I have had to tell you in the first place?"

She was right, he knew. But still he couldn't shake the feeling of anxiety that caused the world to spin restlessly around him.

"Because that just makes you every bit more _selfish_ and mental and--- D-Draco? Hey!" At once she'd stopped her ramblings. She lowered her hands down from her temples and put on an entirely new look of concern. Pitching herself forward she almost seemed to fall over Draco's body, her arms long just above his face, her palms right next to each one of his ears. She was breathing hard in his face, her own front twisted with uneasiness. "Draco? C-Can you hear me?"

On the ground, Draco's face contorted up into what looked like a smile. Giggling irrationally, he looked around. How much had he has that night? Perhaps a bit more than he'd original anticipated. "I can't hear much of a thing, Granger." Lolling from one side to another, Malfoy's head flopped loosely. He then offered a hand up and pressed his upper torso up from the ground, causing Hermione to rise along with him. She was bent forward towards him, as if the two were about to embrace. Hermione blinked, unsure of where the boy below her was going with this, however, she was instantly shown exactly as to what she was inquiring. He swallowed down an excess of bile, watched the scenery around him morph relentlessly, and then leaned forward to breath in her face, "you know, everyone knew you were _smart._ And that's one thing. But you don't have to be such an insufferable know-it-all."

Hermione reeved backwards. She snuffed slightly, scrunching her nose up at the instant revelation of his ransom breath. Her eyes were locked closely into his. So pitched together were they that, if she'd been looking, she'd have noticed that his eyes were glazed and beginning to roll back slightly to his head. "Ugh!" she groaned, disgusted, "are you drunk?"

"I am not!" Draco retaliated looking more than greatly sincerely hurt and down hearted. "... t-that's not even _slightly _true!"

Then, with the only amount of sanity that he felt was actually still left in him, Draco Malfoy felt his body flop down forwards, colliding with Hermione's low set shoulder before passing out completely.

* * *

**Vonne: **REVIEW! :)


	23. Enabler

**Vonne: **Okay, let's get right to it, then! :)

**HermioneMalfoyFan: **Let me start off first by saying that I definitely loved the critiques in your reviews. They're quite helpful and they caused me to go back over everything I'd written so far so-- at least you helped me brush up on things! However, I'm going to have to point out that I am not in dire need of a beta, and yes, I know exactly what such a thing is. I'd have to disagree with you on everything else. I've never confused 'no' with 'know', neither 'we're' with 'were'. If I have it has been, I can assure you, a mistake that was made while rushed. I could provide you examples, which I actually took the time to collect, but it would only further make this response exceedingly long. HA! As for my spelling-- when writing this, I'm doing so without spellchecker, so you'll have to excuse me there, however, I'm still under the impression that I've hardly made any spelling mistakes, if not for the every so often misplacing of letters. Oh! And for the example of Draco knowing that Goyle liked Pansy-- not true. ;) Draco was always under the impression that Goyle _fancied_ Pansy, but merely as much as every schoolboy fancies any crush. Which is why he drops the subject quite quickly. Furthermore, the only reason Draco wanted to keep Pansy's affliction for him a secret was only due to the fact that it would give Goyle more to scold him about. ANYWAY, I still appreciate your review and did take it all into consideration. Please know that I pride myself on my writing and even though I know it was only the spelling and 'grammar' that you were talking about, I'm still unsure of what you're talking about. However, I'm sure I've made spelling mistakes-- that's inevitable due to the fact that I've got no spell check and I don't proofread. Thanks again! :)

**Lumiere du Soeil: **AH, so great to hear from you again! I'm glad that you're enjoying this story so much! Thanks so much! I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much, too!

**Dramione1996: **HA! Even while intoxicated Draco Malfoy is under the impression that he's a bit too much of a proper and perfect gentlemen.

**Metarisenja: **YES! Thank you. Serendipity was what I was trying to go for in the first place, with the chances of the radio, and everything. :)

**Shining Bright Eyes: **I love getting these constant reviews from you all the time-- thanks so much! Anyway, I wanted that chapter to be a surprise and not end the previous one with a hint as to where it was going. :)

**Anavell: **Thanks! I'm so glad you enjoyed reading it, because I had erased some of the stuff I'd written kind of spontaneously in hopes to try and get it right. :)

**Jade2099: **Thank you! HA, Hermione would have figured it out sooner or later-- she is brilliant and everything. I think you'll find out the answer to your question in this chapter. :)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Three:  
Enabler**

"Would you _stop_ _doing _that?" The voice of Hermione Granger was rather far away, but still subconsciously close, with all things considered. Behind his fog of blurred vision, he could just barely make out the vision of her back standing opposite him, wherever it was that he was, only moving in minimal quick motions.

Feeling slightly more up to par, he raised his palm to his throbbing head, winced even at the candle light that flickered up ahead of him. This wasn't the gravel, this wasn't the grounds anywhere near the bridge. A rush of feverish nausea swept over him and, groaning sloppily to himself, he slid his clammy hand down the front of his sweating face. The orangish glow of the candle light only slightly hit the side of him, and yet still it burned his eyes. "Stop passing out!" Hermione continued to instruct, "I can't handle moving you from place to place constantly. You're lucky it's two in the morning or people would start to get more than suspicious if they'd seen me walking next to your unconscious hovering body. I mean, honestly," she cried as she turned on her heels, her curly hair falling over her own wet forehead. She seemed, however, a bit more gentle when she added with a solemn smile, "give me a break here, okay?"

Despite Hermione's scolding voice, she was up and bustling. Her hands felt anxiously across the counter top until finally they found the handle of the steaming tea kettle. Hastily she lifted the thing off of the surface of the marble, poured the scolding tea into one single cup, and approached him with it, holding it out like an offering. Though Draco was sure it wasn't peace that she was coming towards him with. If it hadn't been for the gentleness that she'd stepped towards him with, he'd have been more than positive that she'd planned to douse him bitterly with it. "Now, drink this. Tea has got plenty of caffeine."

"My head hurts," Draco informed her, sloppily and slurred, for it was the most he could think to say at the moment.

"That's to be expected." Hermione told him, placing the cup of tea down on the coffee table. "Can you sit up?"

Malfoy's head spun. For a moment he considered trying, though he knew that such an action was foolish on its own. Instead he stayed pitched on his back, keeping rather still. His vision was still significantly blurred and uneasy, though he blinked impatiently. A rush of embarrassment swelled through him when he realized he was crying. "I dunno," he groaned with a mumble, wiping his entire face with the whole of his palm.

Hermione grinned sadly, her face red with her own bit of humiliation. "Just relax," she advised, bent down slightly near his head.

So this is what Hermione's home looked like; slightly cozy with in-home furniture that could have belonged to a group of men, as well. A bit more analyzing told Draco that he was on the cushions of her living room couch. The thing was rather long and a bit too worn-in, however, despite himself, he found that he was comfortable. He was sprawled out with his legs up on the arm rest. His head was rested simply into the fluff of a simple white pillow. But still, hazily, he opened his eyes slightly and looked up timidly back at her. "Why..." he asked with a moan, "are you being so nice to me?"

Sighing, Hermione's face fell. "Why not?" she seemed to ask the ceiling, fiddling with her own cup of tea, "I mean, what do you expect me to do, huh? Hex you? Clearly, you're in no state for such a thing and, quite frankly, I'm a bit angered-out, to tell you the truth."

"You were so... angry with me a moment ago," Draco reminded her.

Once again, Hermione leaned forward. She put on a slightly more sheepish expression, but despite herself she was smiling. "And you will be angry with me once you snap out of your little... err.. hangover."

However, Malfoy shook his head back and forth. Realization was not, as it so seemed, something that seemed to rest well with Draco Malfoy. The fuzzy feeling of numbness crept in at once. He had never felt more utterly useless. Though there was something aching and bitter that seemed to stay sincerely with him, however being unable to shake himself free of it. It was true-- he'd had far too much to drink, but he still was unwilling to stop himself from his desperate ramblings. "I'm pathetic," he told her limply and when Hermione didn't answer him back, he let out a laugh that was unbelievably sour and far too dry. "Ah," he said waving a finger around in the air, "I told you."

Breathing out, Hermione tilted her head to the side, shifted slightly in her spot. A aching feeling in the pit of her stomach twisted around her person tirelessly. She could feel more than an abrupt ping of sorrow flood through her. But it was Draco Malfoy who was in complete hysterics. His face was red with the rush of things, his eyes glazed over with the haziness of drink. Lying on his back, he managed to reach up the the back of the couch, pull himself up from his submissive spot, and sit in a sloppy position across from her. And all Hermione could manage to do was sit there in silence, a bit too uneasy to do anything more. This wasn't the Draco Malfoy she'd known as of five years ago. This wasn't the same person at all.

But perhaps maybe there was more to be known about the Draco Malfoy that she'd only thought she'd known. From her time hearing his stories over the toy radio she'd been given more than enough insight. And she couldn't quite help it, couldn't quite help wanting to quiet him and tell him that it was okay. Though she didn't do anything of the sort, couldn't bare too. And perhaps, it was her own pride that needed a bit of an adjustment. "And... and," Draco was groaning, his head in the palms of his hands, "I was going to _kill_ myself! I was actually... going to kill myself!" He shook his head anxiously back and forth, "oh, _shit_. Shit!"

"Here," Hermione offered the distraught boy across from her, offering the tea back towards him.

For a moment Draco looked down at it. His eyes scanned the steaming cup with a bit of disbelief and then he glanced back up at her, swelling up fully with more than an overwhelming bit of intensity. The two held their gazes there for a moment that lasted much longer than it should have and then, Draco Malfoy tore himself away, yanking himself up off the couch completely. "I-I should go home, I think," he told the front of his shoes, "I should..."

"It's raining out," Hermione said simply cocking her head towards the windows. And the rain was more than obvious; the windows seemed to be drenched with the dripping water. The roof of Hermione's tiny house seemed to pound down with the sound of the heavy downpour. "Come on," she said, standing behind him, shoulders sinking slightly, "you know as well as I you can't go out there." Then, shifting her posture anxiously, Hermione added with a meek tone of voice, "besides, I can't let you go out there... you might kill yourself."

Malfoy laughed sorely, at first angrily amused, then only instantly even more embarrassed. He huffed, looking as if he were about to cry, but remained standing there, limp.

But Hermione took several steps closer to him, having completely discarded her tea cup. "I'm not mad at you," she told him, as if she were speaking to a hostile being, "I'm too tired to keep being mad at everything. Being angry all the time... it just takes too much out of a person."

Draco's eyes scanned the floor, looked for someplace other than to look but at her. However, despite himself he had to sincerely try to keep from glancing up. She was almost divine in the way she kept stepping towards him, slow and careful as if walking on egg shells. She was lovely, though Draco had always found her attractive, even when he did want to hex her silly. But now was different. Now he was trying to be someone new, someone different than the person that he was all those years ago. And maybe this was a start, even if it was perhaps a blessing in disguise.

Hermione's hair fell slightly over her pretty face. She blinked out the tiny bits of brunette strands that slid in front of her round eyes. "You're okay to just stay on the couch, okay?" she offered, still talking to him with slow apprehension, "Harry and Ron aren't home tonight--"

"_Potter and Weasley_? They...live here..." Draco huffed, swallowing hard and looking back at Hermione as if she'd just slapped him across the front of his face. "Oh... oh, brilliant!"

Suddenly, Hermione grew slightly cross, "well, what do you expect?" she glowered, rolling her eyes a little.

She was right, though. What had he expected? Finally, a little bit defeated, Draco slumped down, looked back at the kitchen, and asked croakily, "do you have anything to drink?"

"Yeah," Hermione said sternly, "milk."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh," Hermione said, sarcastically, "pumpkin juice, then?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. Sourly, he responded back, "hardly."

Laughing heatedly, Hermione pressed both of her hands on her slender hips. She tilted her head to one side and gave him a look that was all too demeaning. Roughly, she seemed to stand between him and the liquor cabinet. The brick wall that was only the slightly short figure of Hermione Granger was all the more daunting when Draco had all that alcohol swimming through his veins. Then again, the intoxicated majority that flowed through his bloodstream was beginning to wear thin and Draco eyed her up and down, only half sure that he could take her. "You're not drinking anymore," she said hastily, watching him eye her suspiciously, "you've already had enough already."

Thus was Malfoy's turn to roll his eyes. Bitterly, he said with a heart full of misery, "I think, considering the circumstances, a drink is just what I need."

"What circumstances?" Hermione tried, her voice raising up a little bit.

"I tried to _kill myself,"_ Malfoy reminded her, "remember?" However, there was no joking tone in the depth of his voice. In fact, he seemed a bit too desperate for something to drink and Hermione didn't truly have the heart to deny it to him. Sighing, she sunk lower, stepped back into the kitchen, and brought out a bottle of red wine, smiling to him with angry sarcasm. "I'm an adult," he told her, "I can fend out for myself." Sure, he'd won this round, but she'd be there to keep watch. Besides, it was either allow him to drink, or allow him to walk back out in the rain all by himself. Surely, since circumstances were being so heavily considered as of the moment, that wasn't the most brilliant idea. However, when Hermione brought the bottle to the coffee table and sat on the couch forcefully, Draco's hostile attitude seemed to fade within him. Deflated, he said rather sheepishly, "thank you."

Hermione scrunched up her nose. "Ah," she said testily, "don't mention it." Still, she managed to pour him a glass that was only half full and shove it bitterly in his direction.

"Come on, Granger," Draco said, eyeing the glass, "you're going to have to be a bit more generous than that." So Hermione leaned forwards, groaning to herself, and obliged unwillingly.

"You're a right git," she said, but still she poured herself a glass, feeling that she too quite needed one.

And Draco looked almost more than miserable when he looked back at her, raising his glass expecting a cheers, saying dully, "I know."

* * *

Hermione Granger was staring unblinking at Draco Malfoy, her legs crossed at the thigh, watching him with a bit too much enthusiasm. The first bottle of wine they'd down within a half an hour and they were currently working on devouring their second one. But Hermione, however, was not even slightly feeling the effects-- perhaps it was because she had been slyly tossing the contents of her glass over her shoulder into the plant bowl when Draco found himself looking away. And she thought, "so this is what it is like. This is what it is like to be in Draco Malfoy's world." Pre-war, pre-battle, post-trauma.

And she'd come to the utter conclusion that he'd completely lost it. Swaying and hammered and utterly out of it, she pried the glass out of his spidery-long fingers and watched him giggle as she carried the bottle away. "Draco Malfoy," she told him as he ran his hand through his hair for the millionth time that night, "you are absolutely out of your mind."

"'S what they all say, Granger," he told her, once again waving a finger in her direction. "'S what they all say."

"Perhaps they have a point, then?" she asked him simply, raising an eyebrow as she cleared out the sink. But Malfoy was up and pacing, standing near her by the sink with his hands behind his back and his hair still an outright mess on top of his head.

However he took to ignoring her. Instead his eyes scanned the place, heaving in a sigh anxiously. "Let me tell you," he began, "this is the _one_ place that I'd never thought I'd be in. That's for sure." He leaned back against the marble counter top, looked utterly infatuated with the place as a whole. "How ironic. You lot have your own place and I'm still living with Mummy and Daddy." His eyes flooded over slightly. Still giggling and physically care-free in his actions, he tilted his head back, said with a slightly disappointed whimper, "go figure!"

"I think," Hermione said, still focusing on the dishes in the sink, "you need to stop focusing on the bad things in your life. I mean, I'm not saying that the memories of them will just... go away. But I believe that in time you will find a way to let them go. Harry, Ron, and I have. Everyone heals at their own pace."

Malfoy brought himself away from the counter top, looked longingly back at the couch, and said child-like, "the room's spinning."

"Great!" Hermione told him stiffly, "now go sit down."

But Malfoy did not do anything of the sort. Instead he shook his head, said insightfully, "how _odd_ it is talking to you not over the radio."

"How odd it is speaking to you when you're not calling me 'Mudblood'," Hermione retaliated ruthlessly.

"You called me a ferret!" he said, a bit hurt.

"Ah, but only because you started it," Hermione teased, feeling slightly embarrassed afterwards. What was she doing? This was Draco Malfoy that she was talking to and, furthermore, he was intoxicated beyond belief. However she couldn't help but feel a bit pleased that he'd decided to stay. She was, after all, a bit glad that she didn't have to worry-- something she'd known she'd have been doing if he had actually stepped outside the house in the rain after all.

But Malfoy reeled back. His face fell and in a whisper he said, "yes, and I am sorry about that."

A flush swept through Hermione at the impact of his apology. "Oh," she said, a bit shocked. "Oh, well... erm-- thank you, uh, Draco."

"And about the time... the time that you were at my house with my aunt and the Death Eaters." Draco Malfoy seemed to be on a roll. He was talking as if there was no use in stopping him and Hermione turned away from the unwashed dishes in the sink. "I'm... uh... sorry about that too."

Hermione scanned Draco for the third time in the night. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and on the forearm of his pale hand, she could see the Dark Mark, still obvious despite all the years that had passed. But he'd seen her spot it and, hastily, he pulled his shirt sleeve back down over it. He tilted his head to one side, examined her this time and said tearfully, "it's permanent."

She took to grabbing him by the shoulders, leaving the sink a bit messy, and directed him back to the couch. "You know what I think?" she asked him and to her surprise he looked genuinely interested. "I think you need to stop drinking so much. It's not very becoming," she scolded, pushing him back down on the cushion and taking her seat across from him. But Malfoy leaned forward, resting his head in the palms of his hands, still not convinced of himself.

"I feel better when I talk to you," he admitted to the ground. "I thought it was the radio, at first. But I don't think that the radio has anything to do with it at all." Then he leaned back, rested his head on the couch and breathed out, "what's wrong with me?"

"You're drunk," Hermione told him, "for one. And two; you're absolutely miserable."

Draco squared his jaw, positioned himself straight and wondered to her out loud, "and what do you suppose I do about that?"

"I suppose," Hermione counteracted, "that you get some help."

Malfoy shrugged, "I already tried that. Didn't work out too well, did it?"

"Well don't look at me!" Hermione said again defensively, "how should I know what you need? I mean, clearly, you're in dire need of _something. _A person cannot just go around trying to kill themselves. It's not healthy._"_

"Well," Malfoy said, "I wasn't miserable when I was talking on that damned radio."

Hermione's face once again flushed. She pushed back a strand of hair from her face and scanned the living room. "It's almost three thirty in the morning," she told him with a yawn. "I don't know about you, but I don't think you want Harry and Ron walking in to find you passed out on their couch." Malfoy's face drained of any possible color it had left. Instead Hermione pulled herself up from the couch, strode over to him, and stared down at him for several passing moments. For a long while, Draco thought that she'd just stand there above him forever, watching him tirelessly without any sort of planned action next. However, her arm moved instantly at her side and then, carefully, she thrust out her hand.

And for a moment Draco was unsure as to whether he should take it but perhaps it was the only possible way he could think of being able to lift himself. Wobbling behind her, he followed her down a short little hall and watched her pull open the door to her bedroom. "Here," she said, glancing up at the bed, "Ron and Harry won't come in my room without knocking."

"I couldn't take the bed," Draco insisted, falling back onto the wall. "I actually prefer the floor." And then, limply, he flopped down on to it with a short little giggle.

Hermione bent down, her face so close to his that he could feel her breath on his chilled face. "Remind me," she said slowly, "never, ever to give you alcohol."

She was so lovely there, bent down to his level, her hands on her knees, the slight smile on her face. It was as if she couldn't help herself, still surely angry but all the while more than utterly amused. The slight twinkle behind her eyes was captivating, and the way her fluffy hair fell down rebelliously in front of her face was all the more intriguing. And there she was, the woman on the other end of the radio, more beautiful and more admirable than he could have ever imagined. He didn't care that she just so turned out to be Hermione Granger, not anymore, not now with all he'd had to drink. But still, it wasn't the liquor that made him want to embrace her so badly. It wasn't the alcohol that had anything to do with his burning desire to never stop talking to her.

Because she was bright and intelligent and funny, he'd never felt more at ease with someone in his entire life. Bent down only several centimeters from him, she leaned forward, sighed slightly as she pulled away the strand of blond hair that was stuck to one side of his sweaty face. He watched her curiously, still and wide-eyed, still not quite sure if he was able to move a single muscle. And then, before he could manage to stop himself, Draco pulled himself forward, pressed his face up against hers and was kissing her much more fast than he'd expected.

At once Hermione pulled away, looking back at him with a visage so shocked that he might as well have keeled over in front of her.

Malfoy's chest dropped. Quickly, he told her, "I'm sorry."

But he didn't have much time to finish his sentence. Hermione grabbed the side of his face, touched the scar that rested just slightly at his hairline, and then left her fingers to trail down the entire edge of his jaw. Still bent over, she remained positioned away from him, swayed slightly, and then, still watching his eyes with an unbreakable gaze, she pulled back. "You need to get some rest," she told him and then she eyed her stray hand, pulling it away fiercely. "You're going to be absolutely miserable in the morning."

Malfoy slunk lower to the floor, watching her retreat to the bed, pull off a hefty amount of blankets, and arrange them into what looked like an oddly comfortable cot on the floor in the corner. "Ah," Draco said back to her, "any more miserable than I am now?"

"A whole lot more," Hermione replied, reaching down and pulling him up once more. She was surprisingly much more strong than he'd expected and she'd lagged him to the corner rather quickly. Malfoy pressed his back against the wall, slid down it dopily to meet the blankets on the floor.

"I doubt that's even possible," he told her, seated atop the pile, "I doubt that's even slightly possible."

Hermione yanked the covers out from under him, taking off his soaking wet shoes and setting them aside neatly near the skirt of her bed. She placed the sheets over him and then pushed a pillow back between him and the wall. Sighing, she then took to slipping the jacket off of his shoulders. "You'd be surprised," he advised him wearily.

And then she crawled back up to her mattress, laying on top of the thing on her back, staring at the top of the ceiling until she heard Malfoy's body slump to the side, knocked out completely. For a moment she took to holding her breath, until then, she turned on her side and watched his shadow in the darkness.

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**Vonne: **REVIEW! :)


	24. Closet Case

**Vonne:** I got so many lovely reviews on the last chapter and I apologize that it took me slightly longer than it did to update this. However, I have it up now, so hopefully, all is well. ANYWAYS, I've got some good news and some bad news. Whichever you'd like to hear first is your choice (because you can read this next sentence first or last depending on how you like it). So, the bad news is that this fiction is going to end soon- at 30 chapters, I think I would like to stop writing this fiction. The Good News? I'm going to make a SECOND PART to this in the form of another fiction. So, it will just be a continuation of this story (which will end in the form of leaving it open for a second, anyway). Hopefully that makes the bad news not so bad, too. However, if you are absolutely OPPOSED to this idea, please let me know in a review. I'm doing this due to the fact that I HATE exceedingly long fictions that seem to go on forever and ever and ever...

Still, this will end on a hopeful note for Hermione and Draco's relationship, though it WILL NOT tie up the loose ends that I am planning on covering in the second one. Now, to the review responses, then chapter twenty four!

**Thwarted Moony: **I adore you! :) Your review made my day, absolutely. Thanks so much for it. Anyway, I tried to make this chapter a bit silly for the lot of you. It offers a bit of hope in Draco's life, I think. I hope you like it.

**Mudkiprox: **Thanks! I'm so glad you like this! Anyway, as for your question about Harry and Ron finding out about Draco... I'm actually planning on having that happen in the second part of this. Hopefully you'll keep reading? :)

**Megjac: **Thank you! :)

**Donni: **I just realized that I didn't address you in my last review responses and I felt so empty! HA! Anyways, just popping in to say-- my mistake! I love hearing form you all the time. :)

**Shining Bright Eyes: **I'm glad you liked reading the parts where Hermione and Draco talk face to face. It's funny because I've always imagined them to bicker all the time, even though I love the idea of the two of them ending up together (even though I also love Ron x Hermione, too). Oh, and thanks for the compliments. :) I'm not looking for a beta and all those problems you described in having one just makes my head hurt! HA

**Jade2099: **Thanks for your review-- and you're totally right. In the light of day, things will be much more different.

**Zejewbum: **Your review was such a big compliment to me! Thanks so much! And I totally agree with you about the Draco x Hermione pairings-- it should be as realistic as possible, which is  
why I wanted to take it slow. Hermione and Draco would NEVER just instantly have feelings for each other. Not even slightly possible. These things take time!

**Avanell**: Thanks! I hope this chapter answers all of your questions! :)

**Rain Unwritten: **Thank you! I know you reviewed on chapter one, but still, thanks! :) I hope you're still interested.

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**Chapter Twenty Four:  
Closet Case**

Hermione Granger blinked herself awake. She'd had herself a rather peaceful night and she felt just about ready for the morning as she spread herself out on top of her bouncy mattress. Her hair slightly flattened underneath the cushion of her chin and with her steady fingers, she pulled the brunette strands stuck to her face away from herself soothingly. She did the cliche; stretching vibrantly before searching her room as a whole. Everything was as she'd remembered, the candle out and the curtains drawn. On the floor near the corner of her bedroom, there was a pile of bed sheets resting in a heap, but no one was buried beneath those covers.

The first word that Hermione Granger muttered that morning, which had once begun as a peaceful one, was, "shit."She slid from the bed with a groan, angry with herself for having fallen asleep, and stumbled over to her dresser. Her fast moving hands quickly scurried around the drawers, shifting through silky scarfs and socks. Finally she pulled out out what was her generally unused flannel button-up and stuffed her arms through it. Bending down swiftly, she pulled her discarded socks off of the garbage bin that her bedroom had become and started towards the door.

"Well!" Ron Weasley exclaimed the moment he saw Hermione emerge from her room, looking distraught and a bit overly jittery, "how nice of you to greet the world!"

Tying off the straps of her sweatpants, Hermione didn't quite look Ron in the eye when she told him lifelessly, "not now, Ronald." Struck, Ron reeled back, exchanging looks with Harry, who only shrugged in the corner. "Did any of you see... uh... anyone in the house this morning?"

Ron raised a single eyebrow. His freckled face gave a slight twitch of confusion and then he cocked his chin towards the kitchen counter. "Nope, haven't seen anyone," he said, "though someone did decide to make tea this morning. Unless you did so in your sleep." Hermione's eyes followed the direction in which Ron's face was locked towards. The doors of the cabinets were left open, and the good china was pulled out, set up on a nice little tray that she was sure she'd never used once after purchasing it. "And someone sliced up oranges?"

Face flushing, Hermione shook her head, "that was me," she lied, slyly moving her eyes around the room. "I was trying to stay up last night." At the awkward expressions of her friends, she added, "for an experiment." Finally she caught it; the closet door was ever so slightly cracked open and, deep in the depths of the blackness that was behind the door, was the white outline of the very person she'd been hoping to find. Her thoughts buzzed and stupidly, she stammered out, "why are you two standing around? Aren't you tired? Sit!"

Ron flopped down on to the couch as if he were in dire need to oblige; Harry only slightly made his way towards the cushions, watched Hermione's eyes find theirs again, and sipped his tea suspiciously. "Feeling up to par there, Hermione?" he asked curiously, watching Hermione stumble backwards down towards the closet door. "You look like you've had one too many cups of tea."

"I have, Harry," Hermione counteracted unwillingly, "And I think I'm missing my coat. Have you seen my coat? I think it may be in the closet."

"Well you best go check for it, then!" Ron said jumpily, watching Hermione nod anxiously in agreement. Then, as she scooted back towards the open door, he whispered nervously in Harry's direction, "she's mental!"

However, he was probably more right than he'd very well known. The moment Hermione slipped into the closet, shutting the door instantly behind her, she turned around, pressed her back against the door, and said to the hidden figure of Draco Malfoy, "what the _hell?_"

"They just showed up!" Draco responded back, looking urgent and anxious.

Hermione once again let her hands grip her throbbing temples. "And so you hid in the closet?"

"What else was I going to do?" Draco hissed, "walk out the front door?" However, once he'd finished harshly croaking back at her, he winced, ran his palm in the front of his face, and groaned quietly. With his eyes pressed tightly shut, he informed her and the inside of his palm, "I don't think I've ever been this hungover in my life."

Hermione pressed her nose directly into Draco's. Breathlessly, she warned him, "keep it down!"

Heaving out, Draco had to fully consider what a morning it had been. Here, pitched in the closet with Hermione Granger, he was forced to consider the endless possibilities. Surely, never had he once thought such a moment was possible in his lifetime, let alone posses the ability not to insult her whilst with her. However, he found himself possessing the ability to keep quiet as she'd so advised. At the other side of the closet door, Ron Weasley cleared his throat, asked suspiciously, "er-- uh, Hermione? Find your coat in there yet?"

"No!" Hermione called back. With an ample amount of wit, she looked directly at Draco while she addressed Ron again, "but it seems as if it just can't stay _put."_

Ron shifted at the cushion of the seat, exchanged looks with Harry, who shrugged and said dryly, "shame."

"Yeah," Hermione hissed, still stuck glaring back at Draco Malfoy, "total shame."

Malfoy's face faltered. For a moment he'd completely forgotten about his hangover. He was, as a matter of fact, completely consumed in the face that this woman (because Hermione was now very much a woman) was so blunt with him. Wasn't she supposed to be sympathetic, caring, something? Or, perhaps, had he missed all that emotion last night? He had been, of course, rather intoxicated. The most he could remember was Goyle, after all. Nonetheless, he silenced himself, agreeing with Hermione that perhaps it was for the best that he kept himself quiet. "I do I get out of here?" he asked her, unfazed. In fact, he'd lost complete interest in playing nice with Hermione; she'd definitely ruined her chances.

Leaning forward, Hermione brushed her hand against Draco's lowered shoulder. Leaning in close, she hissed, "you keep quiet."

Malfoy stiffened. What was this? With her hand touching his shoulder so gently, didn't she realize that she was giving him mixed signals? Fine. Then, he'd keep harsh appearances up for the sake of things. So, Malfoy shut his lips, leaned his head backwards again, and nodded back to her, his face signifying that he'd meant to say aloud, "as you wish".

Hermione squirmed her way past Draco, whisked herself out from the depths of the closet, and stood in front of the door anxiously. "Oh well," she breathed restlessly, "I guess I've misplaced it."

"A bit uncharacteristic of you," Harry noted, still eyeing the closet. Something behind the lens of his round glasses made Hermione a bit nervous. It was as if he'd seen something, even if just merely out of the corner of his eye, that made her blood run cold. Under her breath, she swore to herself bitterly. "You sure you don't want to ask the closet again if your coat is in there someplace?"

Frozen, Hermione pretended to laugh. So he'd heard her 'talking' to someone, but that could have meant anything. "Nah," she chuckled slowly, "the closet's a bit dim, anyway. There's no reasoning with that thing." Rolling his eyes, Draco resisted jumping from the closet and strangling her just for the hell of it.

Momentarily Harry seemed to hold his gaze with Hermione, however, he instantly gave her what he suspected she needed; time to fix whatever it is that had been making her so anxious. "Ron," he said, still gazing at Hermione, "I'm going to go get the paper. Let's go and I'll buy you a beer."

"Deal." Ron said almost too instantly and as they lifted themselves from the couch, Harry only shrugged before exiting the house quietly.

Watching Harry and Ron exit, Hermione breathed out a sigh of relief. She almost couldn't quite contain herself as she sunk low, a bit limp and loose. When she spun around, she whisked the closet door open, red in the face, and planted both of her hands at her side. "You're lucky Harry's a bit too clever for his own good."

"I'm guessing you don't fancy a cup of tea?" Draco said in a mocking tone. As he pushed his way past Hermione, he rolled his eyes and peered out slightly through the curtains that hung over the window of her humble home. The image of both Harry and Ron disappearing away from the house was an all too pleasant one. Harry may have been clever, but even he couldn't have guessed that Draco Malfoy was involved in what Hermione was hiding from them and, truth of the matter was, Draco wouldn't have quite believed it himself.

Laughing sarcastically, Hermione tossed her head to one side. She pushed back her hair and blinked in absolute disbelief. "Well, you've guessed right I suppose."

"Lovely."

"Excellent."

Staring back eye to eye with the bitter woman, Draco found that he was growing rather heated. Who did this woman think she was, anyways? Surely she didn't expect Draco to have a keen personality when she'd been so rude. And, either way, Draco wasn't going to give it to her. He had no time for this foolishness-- not with this hangover, not with this headache. He said in a tone that was all too rushed and a bit sarcastic, "well, alright, Granger. I thank you for your hospitality and yet I've got to be on my way. Was fun."

However, Hermione seemed to take his hurry as an insult. "What?" she asked, watching him retreat back into her bedroom. He was bent down low on the floor, whisking up his jacket and shows from the floor. As he leaned back against the wall, he slipped each shoe on individually. "That's it?"

Draco looked up, slightly confused, he nodded, "yeah."

And before she could take another stroke of silence again, Hermione tossed her hands up in the air and said ruthlessly, "oh! You are some piece of work!"

Matching her sarcasm, Malfoy nodded, saying back, "now if you don't mind, I'm going to go off myself."

Hermione's jaw dropped open so low that it almost hit the floor. And Draco seemed to lavish in her disbelief. Smiling sneakily to himself, he slid past her with a smug smirk and pulled his jacket over his arms as he pulled himself through the living room. Hermione was hot on his heels, still dazed. Then, when he reached the back door, allowing himself to walk through her backyard briskly, Hermione called back, "_fine!_" before slamming the door completely shut.

But Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, shared her annoyance. Muttering begrudgingly to himself, he clenched his fists as he stalked across the emerald grass that lined their backyard. Once again he asked himself the question-- who did she think she was? Who the _hell _did she think she was? Sure, he'd been the lonely depressed one but she... she was...

She was so absolutely... refreshing?

Even in all his fury, Draco Malfoy found it utterly impossible to get Hermione Granger out of his head. True, she had angered him beyond belief, but she had done it so exceedingly well. And, even while fighting with her, something about him seemed different. Not once, not even at one point during the entire time in her closet, had he ever thought about his misery. So, still furious and hot-headed, Draco couldn't help the feeling of interest creep up inside his once pathetically miserable chest.

To himself, he thought rationally, "hm, what a concept."

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**Vonne: **REVIEW!


	25. Swimming Lessons

**Vonne: **Let's get right to it!

**Anavell: **I know! I didn't mean to make it so short, but I wanted to do this chapter as a different one rather than include it as just a divided section someplace in the last one. Anyway, I'm so glad that you found it funny. One thing that I've always contributed Draco and Hermione with is an ample amount of wit-- they both seem to have plenty of it!

**Isabella120:** Hello again! I love getting your reviews. :) Anyway, hope you like this chapter, as well.

**Sophia: **Well, I'm glad you decided to check this out. And I'm even more glad that you ended up liking it after reading more! :) As for Draco being an alcoholic-- I'd always imagined him to have sunk to that level after the battle. He was never the most stable person, you know. HAHA :) Anyway, I'm glad you find him likable, though. Because that's DEFINITELY what I'm trying to go for. I'd always hoped Malfoy could redeem himself. But thanks for the long review! It was wonderful!:)

**CherryVanillaCoke16: **Definitely going to be plenty of Draco and Hermione interaction from now on. It's inevitable! :) I hope you like this chapter!

**Mellowly Candescent: **Thank you so much! Your review really made my day. I love that you like the way that this is written. Those kind of comments mean so much to me. I have no spell checker whatsoever and I don't read these after I write them because I get so low on time. So I'm just winging it most of the time, trying my ass off. HAH. So, really, you made my day. As for your question about electronics not working in the Wizarding World, you are completel right. HAH however, since they were planted there by Hermione, I'd only just figured she'd done something to make them work for herself. :)

**Doni: **Yes, Hermione is definitely giving Draco a bit of his attitude back. ;) I am totally planning on making Ron and Harry find out sooner or later, but I think it's going to be in the second one. Draco and Hermione will start seeing each other sooner or later. And the second is going to focus a lot on that.

**Dramione1996: **HA, well, at least Ron's a little thick. Harry's just too clever. ;)

**Jade2099: **EXACTLY! Draco and Hermione arguing may be exactly the right kind of medicne for Draco. They could even get along because of it-- how odd. :)

**Shining Bright Eyes:** I think I am going to do just that. I don't want this to seem prolonged. Plus, I'd somewhat had plan to make this two stories since about mid-way through, anyway. I'm happy that you're keen on the idea and hope you'll keep following it from there! I love all your reviews!

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**Chapter Twenty Five:  
Swimming Lessons**

So maybe the morning after with Hermione didn't exactly go as well as Draco Malfoy had _initially _planned. But either way, he was done with stuff like that. Besides, in his unstable condition, he really didn't need anymore complications. Still, on his back in the middle of the forest clearing, he only glanced down at the discarded radio before contemplating destroying it for good. Because what good did the silly thing do for him now anyways? Surely he wasn't planning on talking into it again-- not now, and not ever.

And all the while, as he considered the things that he very much did not need in his life, Draco Malfoy had made quite a hefty list. He didn't need unnecessary conflicted, for he had plenty of that; he didn't need to cling on to silly Muggle toys; and he definitely did not need Hermione Jean Granger. Laughing to himself, Draco was even more concerned as to how such a complication was something that had even come into his life. Never, not in a million years, would he have ever considered such a thing possible. But what did he need, then? Because Hermione had made it quite clear that she was under the impression that he'd needed _something. _But that something was not therapy and it was not liquor.

What he needed was a vacation. What he needed was a swim. Malfoy's eyes wandered over to the large pond that sparkled in front of him. He'd had a couple of long days, truly, and he was far from being prepared to go back to the Manor. Then again, it was only eleven in the morning and, judging just by the past forty-eight hours, the day's future possibilities were endless. He could, as a matter of fact, rise up from the depths of the water and decide that he did want to return home. In the back of his head he could even somewhat picture himself apologizing to his father and mother, could practically picture himself retreating back over to Goyle's house, brining him a bottle of wine that he could somehow manage to leave completely untouched. But, those were thoughts for much later and, as he resided in only the current, Draco's only focus was on the pond. He lifted the black tie from around his shoulders and let it fall down to the floor. Next, he unbuckled his belt and slipped off his trousers. In his button-up and boxers, he stood glaring at the deep water.

It was, as it so seemed, now or never. To jump or not to jump? That was the question. Furthermore, he was running low on time; the ran seemed to be yet another devious threat to the afternoon and as he inched himself towards the surface of the pond, only the cranky black clouds provided him as a witness. So he took the plunge, still a bit woozy from the practically unbearable headache, and lowered his first foot into the water indefinitely. And it was much colder than he'd expected. As the shock of the chilly water hit him, Draco was strong enough to refrain from reeling back. In fact, he only thrust his free leg into the water's contents indefinitely.

The reflection of Draco Malfoy in the mirror of the pond was, at best, a bit horrifying. His face had been almost stained in the color of red wine, and his black eye was now utterly obvious. The grease that tainted his head of blond hair was overwhelming and the bags underneath his eyes were heavy and depressing. So maybe a shower was necessary and a bit over due. Draco held his shaky breath, running a clammy hand through his hair. He felt as if he'd been dipped in grease, but no matter; such an issue was more than easily fixable. In quite a rush, Draco dove down into the pond without another thought.

Underwater Draco could only hear the slight bubbles of rushing water. For a moment he wished he could stay under the water forever, but the lack of air only seemed to force him up. He surfaced the pond with one big breath and then, as he surveyed the deserted clearing of the forest, he pushed himself up to float on his back. The makeup given to him from Pansy had washed away from his visage completely and his shaggy blond hair sprawled out only about four inches from his skull, giving him a temporary halo. On the surface of the water, his appearance was almost lavishly deceiving, for he was not the divinity that his blond halo suggested.

But at a closer look, Draco's bruised face was unmistakable, the sorrow behind his defeated sigh was, if anything, a bit depressing. Still afloat on his back, he stared up at the sky, distant to the world around him. He spread his arms out around him, pushing his hair back into around his skull, only to have it loosely come undone. But still, Draco remained unbothered about such issues. Gone to the world, he only observed the twisting gray clouds, providing to them nothing more than an audience. And, perhaps, he should have been a bit more alert. Because there was something that he should have noticed lurking behind the trees of the emerald forest and, as he lay there lifelessly, he remained nothing but a simple figure, almost completely lost to the outside universe.

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The woman behind the trees had been, by all means, following Draco Malfoy for quite some time that morning. She'd been at his heels for a while, though she was by no means out of breath; the slow pace Draco had been walking at was, of course, a bit overly slow. Still, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmingly tired from the chase, if one would really call it that. At best, she considered as she sunk down to the grassy grounds of the forest, it was something like a snail's long walk.

On the floor she extended her legs, which were now only too sore from her stalking troubles. Breathing out slowly, she pushed back the mess that was her hair using the entire palm of both her hands. Smoothing the strays away, she revealed to the shade her face. She was rather lovely, despite the condoning manner that her visage seemed to always give off. Her complexion was rather on the pale side, though her eyes were lovely enough to captivate anyone. In fact, Hermione Granger was almost exceedingly gorgeous-- despite the fact that she made even the most unshakable men a bit nervous.

Still, she was not happy. Having followed Draco's wandering for somewhere over than an hour now, she was more than happy that he'd called it quits. Though she couldn't help her curiosity to watch him lower himself into the pond water further. He was much more out of his mind that she'd originally thought; that water was murky and disgusting, even the sight of it was a bit unnerving. She was growing more chilled by the mere look at it and, all the while, Draco seemed completely unfazed. He sighed lifelessly; with his hands perched next to his sides, he finally rose them up underneath his skull, relaxing more deeply. Idiot. Complete idiot. Hermione was warning him in her own head of all the disease swimming in that petri dish, but her own habits only discouraged her. She was still a worrier, still too anxiety-ridden for her own good, and this was utter proof of it.

Nonetheless, her scrutiny lasted longer. Malfoy heaved out, much more at peace that even Hermione herself. The majority of his clothes were in a heaped pile only a little away from the edge of the pond water. Hermione was cold even in her heavy coat. She wondered what he was thinking and then took back her personal inquiry-- did it really matter? She could not possibly come to understand his thoughts anyway, nothing could ever help her to. For Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were on two different planes entirely. Of course she'd known that; would always know that. Furthermore, any hope of understanding was much more impossible that she could have initially hoped. To pick and pry at that head of his, a head that she had not known for five years, was almost daunting to even think about. As a second chill ran up her spine, she told herself that it was only due to the weather, but the sane part of her told her she was being even more thick than ever.

The wind rushed by her, moving her stubborn hair back in to place. Why was she here anyways? She didn't have to follow him, didn't have to do anything of the sort. He'd been so infuriating just earlier this morning and, if she were as content as she'd initially thought herself to be, she'd have let their argument stay as it was. She had no intentions on trying to fix it, surely. She had enough self-assurance to let it sit, didn't she? So she was nothing like she'd perceived herself to be... that was alright. That was something she could... live with. "Damn," she cursed quietly to herself, striking herself on the knee. But perhaps she should have stuck to her original plan of keeping quiet; the moment she'd spoken Draco Malfoy's eyes whipped instantly open. The water rushed around him and he seemed to almost drown in his rush. He didn't speak exactly, but cause himself to sink lower in the water, coming back up to the surface with an entirely new meaning to the word 'pallor'.

"Who's there?" he called out, looking exceedingly dumbstruck. His kicking legs were the only things keeping him a float, even if shakily so. The dark bags underneath his fearful eyes were much more prominent. The severe split at the front of his lip was puffy with the oncoming form of prolonged healing. His eyes scanned the forest of trees in front of him for only several moments before he caught sight of her shadow, back pressed up against the trunk of the thick tree so fierce aggression. She swore even more quietly to herself, gripping her fingers tightly around the width of her wand. What was she going to do with it, anyway? Hex him? Chest sinking, she decided that she'd merely keep it in handy if only just to scare him with. "I see you there," he said, lowing a brow. However, she spoke to the shadow with a curious intensity, more wonderingly that angry.

So much for relaxing. Hermione stepped forward only several inches. Was she really about to stress herself out even more than she'd already had? Her submission to this anxiety was, in her own way, her very own fault. However, something invisible seemed to be forcing her back out. She was almost helpless to her desire to step out from the veil of the trees. Though she did so sheepishly with her head pitched towards the front of her feet. Looking back out at him through the cover of her hair, Hermione glanced around before locking with him an embarrassed gaze of her own.

Malfoy did not seem cheerful to see her, not that she'd expected him to have been. His drained face was all telling and the way he looked back at her signified every ounce of his detest. "Are you _following_ me?" he asked her, a bit bitter in his sense of curiosity. Hermione only shrugged-- what could have she told him? Lying was not, all things considered, something she felt that she was truly in the mood for doing. In fact, her only desire was now to get herself out of the clearing altogether; it was starting to rain, and the twisting clouds were more than just a threat. Awkwardly, she flushed, feeling a bit stupid in her actions. "It's starting to rain out," she advised strangely.

Draco stopped only slightly in his kicking. Slowly moving now, he raised an eyebrow, saying coldly, "you followed me to tell me that it's going to _rain_ out?" Malfoy looked up at the sky, breaking his angry gaze for only a moment. It was more than heavily obvious that it was going to rain-- every twirling cloud in the sky seemed to signify such an instance. Surely, all he'd of had to do was look up and such a revelation would have been granted to him instantly.

Hermione deflated. She bit her bottom lip, chewing on it uneasily. "No," she admitted hesitantly.

"So you followed me to make sure I wasn't about to drown myself, then?" Malfoy offered, growing a bit more offended. Hermione blush, a little bit aware of her own foolishness. Now that she'd thought about it, it did somewhat seem that way. Subconsciously she told herself that he was right-- that she'd followed him solely for that reason alone. However, even repeating it over and over in her head, she still wasn't entirely convinced. Nonetheless, Draco was still unamused. He glanced down at the water he'd been treading, looked back at her with a furious expression. "Well," he said, completely red in the face, "you've come just in time." Then, tilting his head to the side, his eyes signaled a tiny spark when he said, "nice knowing you, Granger."

Without hesitation, Draco plummeted himself beneath the mossy water altogether, completely disappearing from Hermione's view. Watching the surface of the pond flutter with the boy's quick vanishing act, Hemione bluntly shifted her weight. Her fingers gripped her slender waist, tossing her head to one side like an impatient mother. How long was he going to truly keep this up anyway? Of course he'd come up for a breath at any upcoming moment. She looked up at the sky as if the clouds could keep track of the time. Shivering in her lack of appropriate clothing, she crossed her hands across her heaving chest. She gave him about ten more seconds; ten more seconds and he'd surface just as flustered and angry as before.

Ten. She tossed her hair back behind her shoulders, positioning her jacket collar up higher around the exposed part of her neck. Nine. An intense amount of chilliness rushed through her shaky exterior. Eight. The shining face of the moon was just beginning to be covered by the skating clouds. Seven. The first bit of thunder made her a bit too jumpy. Six, five, four. Any moment now. Three. Any moment. Two. Any moment.

One. "Oy!" Hermione found that her heart was pounding quickly in her chest. She flickered, bending down slightly, but she couldn't see past the cloudiness of the water below her. Even squinting, she could not see any trace of Draco's sinking figure. "Oy, not funny!" she called, pressing her face almost too close to the surface. "Hey, Malfoy!" But no one came to greet her. As she stood in a squat waiting for Malfoy to leap out of the water, she couldn't deny that perhaps he wasn't joking at all.

A swell of anxiety boiled through her. She'd lost track of time, but surely he'd been down there for much longer than she'd expected. She saw no bubbles, no sign of life at all. Heated, she ran a hand through her head of brown hair, dodging all the knots that the wind was creating within it. "Shit," she swore, for cursing had been quite the habit of her lately, "oh, shit!"

Hermione's hands rushed to pry off the daunting jacket that was wrapped around her shoulders; with such jitters it actually took her quite some time to yank it off. When she managed to do so, she tossed it over her back, not bothering to watch for it's place falling in puddles. Instead she started for her boots, flinging them off of her feet with an entirely new bit of desperation entirely. Then, even only slightly undressed, she gazed down at the water, inhaled heavily, and then dove down into the water without a second thought.

The very moment she plunged into the pond, an intense amount of pins and needles stung her body. Chilliness wasn't even the correct way to describe it; she was sore, aching with each inch she sunk lower into the water. But she couldn't think about the physical pain of it now, not when she had to find Malfoy. But even as she moved her hands around the water in front of her, she came expectedly short. There was nothing she could feel in front of her until finally, she had to resurface again, gasping up at the top with a croaky breath before preparing herself to dive back in again.

Something jerky and prying grabbed her arm. Reacting, she shook back, brushing her holder off with a strong bit of aggression. Finally, when she blinked back on to the surface of the water, she yanked her arm free once and for all, panting hard and heavy. She let out a hoarse scream and then whirled around, ready to sock her captor in the face. However, her eyes caught sight of Malfoy, who jolted back at her sudden advancement, and her hand came down with the surface of the pond, beating it furiously. "What the _hell,_" she merely stated, rather than asked. "What the bloody--"

"Me?" Draco asked, flustered, watching her anxiously. His hands were still on her arm, as if by doing so he was helping her stay afloat. "What do you mean _me? _You jumped in--"

"You were _drowning!"_ Hermione interjected, her face as bright as ever. The black of her makeup was running down her face like destroyed constellations; her eyes were a wandering pair of stars, lost in their moment of falling.

Draco shook his head, looking a bit embarrassed. "No, no," he said, a bit jerky on his own. "I was only kidding. It was just a joke."

"Some funny _joke!" _Hermione gasped, trying to cough the water out of her throat. Her head was fuzzy and the rush of her lightheadedness hit her home. "Who _does _that?" she asked him, once again flustered, "who _does_ that?"

Malfoy's face twisted. "I didn't think you'd follow me in!"

Hermione looked as if she could explode. Spitting spastically, she hissed, "you're _suicidal! _Of course I'd follow you in!"

Looking beat, Draco scrunched up his face. Beating his legs to keep him still remaining above the surface of the murky pond water, he looked angrily defeated. All the while, he resided appearing all the more morose when he counteracted with, "that's beyond the point."

"Malfoy," Hermione said only after a long fit of silence, "please take your hand off of my arm."

They sat staring back at one another with intense aggression. For a moment Malfoy thought about leaving his hand there on her forearm just to make a point, however instantly took back his decision to be prudent. Instead, Draco looked down and whisked away his palm as if her skin had caught fire. "Right," he scoffed, "sorry."

"Never mind," Hermione said back hurriedly. "Now, you need to go back home. It's going to pour and--"

"And what?" Malfoy responded. The coldness that returned back into the tone of his voice. So icy was his intention that even Hermione shot him a look of curious disapproval; he'd been so genuine with her before and now something seemed to have instantly snapped. His stone colored eyes narrowed, locking in to hers as if contemplating whether or not to lunge forward and drown her. He didn't make such an action, however. Either way, all he did was remain floating, staring at her mercilessly, directly challenging her. "So now you're under the impression that you can tell me what to do? Don't make me laugh."

Glancing up at the black sky, Hermione swallowed. Her own bit of fury was rising unwillingly in the depth of her panting chest. Her heart beat faster and she too considered ending the life of Draco Malfoy once and for all. "Don't be so thick," she said to him, ignoring her hair, which was now pressed against her wet face. "There's no way you'd stay out here. It's suicide!"

"Well!" Draco yelled, blinking, "then it's just my cup of tea, then!"

Hermione opened her mouth and then shut it again. He did, of course, have her. But what did he expect her to do? Allow him to freeze to death, catch some disease? His wand was someplace under the heap of his clothes at the grassy shore and hers, of course, was someplace there as well. If she'd have to swim out of the pond herself, retrieve her wand and magically lift himself out of the water... she'd do so. However, she wasn't moving to put her plan to action. It was all she could do-- stare back at him, challenge him fiercely. Then, when she'd decided she'd had quite enough of the bitter silence, she said out loud, "you're bluffing."

Malfoy's brow rose a mile on his forehead. A devilishly malicious smile graced his otherwise furious face. "Would you like to make that a bet, Granger?" he asked, his kicking feet slowing by just a slight beat.

Hermione tilted her head to one side, slowed the pace in her legs, too. "Undoubtedly," she answered.

"Alright," Draco said, determined with fury. He lowered both his brow and his grin and then, rested himself back again. Sighing out, he propped his hands behind his head. Hermione, watching his actions with bewildered expressions, remained egg beating to keep herself above the water. Still, she watched him make himself comfortable, once again falling victim to her own silent treatment. But Malfoy wasn't making any sort of sound either, he hadn't even bothered whistling. In fact, he'd pitched his eyes shut and seemed to ignore that she was even floating there next to him in the first place. Futhermore, he seemed content in his solitude, as if she wasn't even there at all.

Huffing, Hermione rolled her eyes back in her head. With her tongue, she picked at her teeth. Then, finally, she breathed, "alright, you win. Happy? You've officially proven yourself-- you're both depressed and exceedingly childish!" Hermione threw up her hands, "so, congratulations!" Malfoy opened only one of his shut eyes, looked at her with harsh delusion as if she'd only just woken him from a sound sleep. "Now, please, can we stop this nonesense and get dried off?"

"You can," Draco said simply, shrugging as he remained on his back, "be my guest. I, on the other hand, am staying right here."

Hermione's chest fell. Red in the face, she hissed, "why do you have to be so damn stubborn?"

"I could ask you the same question." Then, shutting his eyes again, Malfoy said calmly, "why are you still here?"

An even longer bit of silence instantly came after his question. For a moment, even Hermione stayed floating, literlly dumbfounded. She blinked, unsure as to why she hadn't moved herself, either. Surely, she could have pulled herself from the pond whenever she had liked. There was no reason for her to stay, was there? The fact that she'd chosen to keep Draco Malfoy company was, more over, her own decision. "I..." she started, tripping over her own unplanned bit of speech, "I... that's beyond the point."

Nodding, Draco only said, "ah," and Hermione's face flushed.

"You know, you make it very... difficult to do anything," she continued, her fists balling up under water.

Still with his eyes closed, Malfoy asked peacefully, "what, pray tell, am I making it hard for you to do?"

"Have a normal convesation with you, for fuck's sake!" Hermione growled, looking around the forest as if to make sure no one else was listening in on them. "Belive it or not, you were easier to talk to over the stupid _radio._"

"Well," Draco said, "the feeling's mutual."

At once, Hermione's voice lowered. So timid was she that she had to look back down at the pond water in order to fully continue. Submissively, she responded back in a meek tone, informing the blond boy softly, "well, I am only trying to help." Once again, Malfoy peeked out at her from the corner of his eyes, but she didn't notice the attention. Hermione was too busy staring at herself in the relfection of the pond water. She found that she'd looked an utter mess, but there was little she could do about it now. Still, Draco couldn't help but feel a bit guilty and, despite himself, he understood her misery, too. Going a bit pale, he shut his eyes and relaxed his tense exterior.

"Lie back, Granger," he advised and when he heard no sound of moving water, he once again pried his eyes open. "Go on, you've already dove down completely in it." Hermione looked to her side, she put on a testy glance, but then shifted herself, so that she matched the position that Draco himself had been in. "Perfect," Draco grinned, admittedly glad that she'd obliged. Still while he spoke with a gentle tone of voice, he couldn't deny himself his own characteristic pride that was all too usual. "Now," he continued, watching her out of the side of his vision, "I'm going to ask you do to something that you may find very difficult. But, I believe that you can do it if you try very hard."

Wincing, Hermione prepared herself for the worst. "What?" she asked monotonously.

Draco shrugged, "relax."

A rush of resentment flooded through Hermione Granger's floating body. For a moment she considered herself being poked fun of. In the heat of her anger she willed herself to swim to the edge and leave him there alone but, once again, she failed to accomplish any such goals. Instead, to her surprise, her anger seemed to subside. She lowered her shoulders and breathed out, allowing herself to clear her mind completely. Loud and booming, a crack of thunder whipped above the two of them and Hermione jumped. At her side Draco turned towards her, said more sternly, "just relax." So, sighing, Hermione shut her eyes, unclenched her fists, and melted into the very water that she floated on top of. And it was only strange for a moment. Then, quite quickly after that, she found that she was very much enjoying herself. She was so relaxed, so at peace. The swaying water underneath her was ever so rhythmic in her ears, and she listened to her own breath under the pond's surface.

After a while of shutting her eyes, she opened them, watching the night sky churn restlessly ahead of her. Why it had been taking such a long time to rain was beyond her. However, she felt that even if it were about to pour, it would still be hard for her to tear herself away from this spot. The thunder in the sky was relentless, but it didn't even slightly bother her anymore. Each cry from the sky above was only addition to the melody that oddly relaxed her. She no longer jumped at the sound, but watched it and listened quietly. Why hadn't she thought of trying something like this before? Why had such a moment, a simple swim, put her at so much peace? It was, after all, so plainly simple.

The sky lit up with a flash of lightening, bright yellow making the clouds look almost false above them. And Draco was watching with Hermione, two curious kids a bit too out of their mind in the storm. In the back of her mind, Hermione's sane self was advising her that the water was the most dangerous place to be in such a storm. Still, she couldn't bring herself to do it-- was perhaps enjoying herself far too much. And in her insane delusion she brought her eyes away from the sky and looked to the side back at Malfoy, his figure so prestine and calm there next to her. Even despite the fact that she'd been so furious with him only moments before, he still looked so divine. In the darkness of the night, his pale skin stood out so gracefully, his blond hair floating out brilliantly. With his white shirt stuck to his chest, he looked almost one color-- palely holy.

"I did mean it, you know," Draco said through the silence. He was staring up at the sky when he spoke, but it was obvious that he was speaking to Hermione alone.

Curious, Hermione's face contorted. She was still scrutinizing the sky, as well, but she'd only lost a small fraction of her relaxation. "You meant what?" she asked him.

"What I said over the radio." Draco's eyes did not move a single inch.

However Hermione, who kept up Draco's trend of remaining completely still, said back, "I know. And, I'll admit it-- that's a big step, actally."

Turning, Draco looked back at Hermione, asking hoarsely, "yeah?"

"Definitely," Hermione assured him and she didn't catch the smile on his face as he looked back up at the sky.

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**Vonne: **REVIEW! :)


	26. Going Back

**Vonne:** Let's get right to it, then! :)

**Shining Bright Eyes:** HA, well good. I fancy unpredictability! :)

**Mellowly Candescent: **Thank you so much for your compliments. Actually, after reading your reviews it helped me get the motivation to upload this. I am so happy that you're enjoying this! It helps me update much faster. And I love responding to you all. It's just nice to see that you all have so much interest in it! Thanks again.

**Doni: **Thanks! HA! I'm actually enjoying Hermione and Draco's bickering. I've always found it to be most realistic, anyway. :)

**Jade2099: **Aw, that's definitely good for me to hear. I'm happy that both you and Doni seem to think that Hermione and Draco are good for each other. I never wanted to make the relationship seemed forced-- you know, like if the whole battle thing never happened. I tried to keep in mind that the two DID hate each other at one point, their relationship will be eventual. And, as for your ideas in your review... I think you're on to something. ;)

**Weather Watch: **Thanks so much! I am so happy to hear that this is realistic-- it was what I was aiming for, even if it seems to take a while to get to the point. HA, and yes, it was very game of Hermione to jump in after Draco. ;) And he totally is driving her insane. But maybe Hermione needs someone to do so.

**Anavell: **Thanks. Short review from you (which is totally fine, of course) but I thought I'd pop in and say hello again anyways! You're always reviewing no matter what! :)

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**Chapter Twenty Six:  
Going Back**

Besides the downpour, Draco Malfoy was, quite frankly, having somewhat of a satisfactory day. Despite the previous events of the morning, he did seem to think that things had taken a turn for the better. And though he didn't quite care to admit it, he knew that Hermione Granger had a lot to do with this upturn. However, being as prideful as he was, he'd kept his appreciation to himself. Although he couldn't distract himself enough to stop staring at her as she pulled back on her jacket once the two of them had pulled themselves out of the pond. And she was a bit curious too, watching him back, almost far too content in their silence. Finally, as she flopped to the ground and pulled up the socks above her shins, she looked up through the veil like veins that was her wet hair.

In the way she tilted her head to one side, she seemed to slowly snap out of her delusion. Sure the evening had been quite a lovely one, but Hermione was not as easily drawn in as Draco Malfoy might have expected. Furthermore, when she spoke above the subsiding crackle of the storm, she was far more stern than she had been in a while. "Well," she said, watching Draco fiddle anxiously with his tie, "now what are you going to do?" Malfoy stopped, looked down at her with inquiry. He raised an eyebrow and watched her there as she waited anxiously, as if she'd been waiting to hear such an answer her whole life.

He quickly glanced back down at his tie, finishing it off and tending to his collar. Gently, he fixed his shirt back into place. It was still soaking wet, but as he stood there in the clearing he seemed almost oblivious to the fact. "I dunno," he said, reaching for his discarded jacket, "am I supposed to have a plan?" When Hermione didn't answer, he continued his job with the buttoning. Then, conclusively, he tended to his shoes, slipping them on with what may have been considered as a fairly off balance ambition. "I was actually just kind of... exceptionally going along with everything."

Sighing, Hermione once again looked up. She fixated her eyes back on Malfoy, who refused to return any such gaze. He seemed to falsely captivated in dressing his feet that her anxiety level rose ten fold. "Yeah," she said in a contradicting tone of voice, "and how's that been going for you?" However harsh, she succeeded in catching Malfoy's absent attention. He stopped knotting his shoes and seemed to bitterly glare at her.

A bit agitated, he was looking at her only with his eyes. His head was pitched still at his shoes, but not even Hermione could deny the gaze that he gave her. "Not particularly swimmingly, so far," he said roughly, "but give it time." Then, conclusively, he looked back down at his feet and tied off his shoe laces with fast aggression. Then, at the next bit of silence that seemed to pass slowly between the two of them, Draco froze. He stopped wasting his time with his shoes. His shoulders sunk and with one hand, he lifted a boney white finger. While he kept his focus on the dewy grass below him, he said to her, "It's not over yet."

Hermione nodded. She temporarily chewed on her lower lip before asking, "alright then. So, when does it end?" This time, Draco's hands moved as if they were on fire. He'd tied and retied his shoelaces for quite some time, but now he was ready to get a move on. Furiously finishing off the job, he hoisted himself up and smoothed back his hair. Decisively, he declared that he had no idea. As Draco started off into the tree laced forest, Hermione watching his shrinking figure. Then as the life flooded back into her, she dove for her remaining clothes and started off clumsily after him. When she reached his side, Draco only glared back at her from the side of his vision, lifelessly lifting up an eyebrow. There was no welcoming warmness in his glare and, feeling a bit guilty, Hermione shivered as she wrapped her jacket back around her shoulders. "Sorry," she said quietly, "I didn't mean to upset you."

But Malfoy shook his head. A bit solemn, he told her, "I'm not upset," and then waited for her to end the conversation. Of course, such a hope was rather a difficult feat; because Hermione was far too curious about him now. Instead she took to her own fiddling. As her fingers flicked the drawstrings of her jacket, she continued her relentless lip chewing. The way she looked at him was, in all ways, wonderful. And she did, absolutely, want to help him.

Finally, when she'd begun to feel strange in her silence, Hermione said aloud, "I was doing some thinking... in the water." Even though she hadn't expected it, she was quite happily surprised when Malfoy looked back at her, curious on his own. She felt a little bit warmer, though she was unclear as to why. Even in the obvious chill, the heat that rushed through her was not due to the security of her flimsy coat. "Just about what you _did_ say on the radio... and not the apology part. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

A morose hint of sadness was absolutely present in his voice. He said, "no," and then added with slightly bigger interest, "what did I say?"

Watching him, Hermione shrugged. She was at once feeling just as relaxed as she had in the water. Even on the sturdy ground, Hermione felt a bit strange in her comfort, but was all to keen to except it. "I was just thinking of how miserable you are. How... sad you are." Draco's face flushed, growing wild with embarrassment. "No, no... just--- I was just thinking that... I'd like to see you fix it."

With his hands stuffed in the pockets of his trousers, Malfoy asked back, "fix what?"

And Hermione offered him something of a saddened smile. "It. Fix _it._ You know? Your ending. Even you don't deserve an awful ending."

For a moment the two said nothing else. Silence, as it so seemed, was much of a habit for the two of them, but neither considered breaking it off. Instead, Draco's eyes glanced over the brush, watching each raindrop individually. What was it that she was saying exactly? He couldn't quite put a finger on it, couldn't quite pinpoint her motives. Nonetheless, there was nothing he could convince himself of, nothing he could accuse her of. Because what did he have left to loose now, anyways? However, Draco mulled over her statement, feeling a bit more down with every passing moment. "Really?" he asked her with a falsely hopeful voice, "I was just getting content with having an awful ending, Granger."

Rather undoubtedly serious, Hermione had to stifle the smile that just barely graced her pale face. She lifted her hand and slapped him across the forearm. Draco winced, still oddly sore there, but he tried to hide his discomfort from Hermione. "I'm being serious!" she said forcefully, once again allowing herself to melt back into that of a stoney glare.

"Alright," Draco said, acting out a smile of his own. "So, then. Does that mean that we've got a new deal?"

Nodding, Hermione laughed slightly when she informed him gleefully, "absolutely!"

Malfoy stopped in the middle of his walking and Hermione raised an eyebrow as she watched him pause in front of her. His blond hair flopped over his pale forehead and he crossed his thin arms across his chest. "Perhaps we should shake on it?" he suggested, looking almost perfectly gorgeous in the light. And just before Hermione could consider being remotely attracted to him, she denied herself of this submission. Instead, to distract herself, she lunged forward, grabbing his outstretched hand with her own. "Well, Granger," Malfoy said still holding her hand in his, "you've just made a deal with the devil."

Staring back at him, Hermione tried not to think of the night before. She tried to push out the blurry memory of him against her bedroom wall, drunkenly trying to kiss her. She told herself to look, look at who it was she was talking to. Draco Malfoy was not ever her friend, not ever someone she'd ever thought she'd connect with. But then... what was this?

The tinge of excitement in her chest was almost damning.

"I guess I have," Hermione responded back to him, still a bit delirious in all her fascination. Then, shaking her head, she tried to clear her mind. Sanely, she said out loud, "I promise, Mr. Malfoy, that by the time I get done with you, you will have a new found lust for life."

Malfoy tilted his head to the side and Hermione tried to ignore the fact that their hands were still touching. "Oh, for sure," she said, confidently. Then, she shrugged, adding with a smile, "well, if not that... then, a little bit of excitement-- at least. Maybe. I mean, at the bare minimum."

Smiling, Malfoy then drew his hand away from Hermione's, much to her relief. She grinned and then consequently shoved her palm into the pocket of her pants. Malfoy inhaled. His cold eyes glanced around the forest and then, when he rested them back on Hermione, he lifted his shoulders. It wasn't an actual shrug, but more like a simple lift. In fact, he left his shoulders in that exact position, held up as if waiting for something else. "Okay, so," he said, "how should I start?"

Blinking, Hermione seemed to snap out of her daze. Perhaps she'd been focusing on Malfoy too much as an entire being, rather than being more specific; because, specifically he was asking her a question. However, so could only see his mouth move. "I'm sorry?" she asked him, flushing with embarrassment. Maybe he hadn't noticed her watching him so curiously. "How should you _start?_"

Draco didn't move. Only, he managed to nod his skull quickly up and down again. "Yeah, I think that would be the ideal way to being things. Don't you?"

Hermione shook her head. Finally regaining the color back in her face, she grinned sheepishly and then added feverishly, "oh, yes, how to start. Well, I guess that would mean I'd have to know where you're at now."

"Well," Malfoy said, once again relaxing. He brought his shoulders back down to their normal position and left his chilly hands in the pits of his coat pockets. Still, he managed to continue on, a little morose. "I'm not getting married anymore."

Neither of the two said a single word and then, awkwardly, Hermione said uneasily, "erm-- congratulations?" Something happy tinged lightly inside of her body. Why was she so happy about something so unimportant?

Chewing lightly on his bottom lip, Malfoy said back lightly, "thanks, Granger, but it's not something I'm quite proud of."

"Why?" Hermione blinked, looking somewhat struck dumb.

"Ah," Draco mused, reaching back to scratch the back of his blond head. He looked a bit queasy when he responded weakly, "it kind of drastically deepened the hole I was in."

However, Hermione only shrugged. "Well, you did what was best for you. And that's definitely something that you need to focus on now. I mean, I am advising you from now on and everything." Malfoy narrowed his eyes, as if he was suddenly unsure about the deal he'd only just made with the woman in front of him. However, he kept himself quite quiet. "I think now, though, you should go home. Clean yourself off. I've got something for those bruises," she continued, cocking her head up to the sight of them, "to help them clear faster."

Malfoy held up his hand, stopping her abruptly. "Ah, well, one problem there, Granger."

Hermione's mouth opened only slightly. With a testy little tone, she asked flatly, "being?"

"Being," Draco clarified instantly, "that I could not possibly head back to the Manor now."

For the last time in the course of the night, Hermione let her head flop to one side. She narrowed her eyes, matching Draco's consequently demeaning glare. She over pronounced her words as her lips formed the short sentence, "why?"

"My mother and father don't fancy the engagement break off," Malfoy informed her curtly. Then, grinning with hurried apprehension, he said anxiously, "so I don't think that's exactly the best idea at the moment."

But Hermione crossed her hands across her chest. She had a determined look about her face that was unmistakable. In fact, she'd rooted herself into the idea of helping the lost soul of Draco Malfoy and now, now that she'd stuck herself to it, she did not have any plans to fail. "No," she said, stepping forward and seizing him by the shoulders. He was several inches taller than she was, but she managed to lock her palms into his skeleton decisively. She took turn in directing him, glad that he'd decided to move his feet, and she said over his shoulder as they walked on tiredly, "you're going to go back home, Malfoy. Work things out with your father."

Staring forwards, Draco said unblinkingly, "but you hate my father."

"Use to hate," Hermione corrected gently. Then, going slightly crossed eyed, she considered what she'd said, taking it back gently, "well, I mean, he's not my dad. Anyway, that's far beyond the point." Before Malfoy could ask her what, exactly, her point was, Hermione continued restlessly, "you're not going to get anywhere unless you start to claw your way out of that hole."

Whipping himself free from Hermione's grasp, Draco whirled himself back around. He came face to face with her directly, panting with a bit of anxious aggression. His hair was almost dry, but it still hung messily around his white face. "And what do you suppose I say to him?" he asked her fiercely, almost devilishly awaiting whatever it was she'd planned on answering him back with.

However, Hermione was already prepared. She leaned back on her heels and crossed her thin arms across her chest. For a moment she held his gaze, the confidence enthusiastically glowing behind her intensely sparkling eyes. For a split second, Draco Malfoy found himself thinking how spectacularly clever she looked, even behind all her overwhelming demeanor. He considered the fact that, while she may have been subconsciously mocking him, she'd done so in a way so marvelously that it almost seemed to cancel out her all knowing attitude. "Well," she said once she was sure she'd had Malfoy's attention. Draco's posture relaxed itself; he seemed sincerely curious. "You're a _Malfoy_," Hermione said, "think of something."

* * *

For a Malfoy, Draco sure didn't feel too superior. As he stood considering the large front door, he waited uneasily, as if still considering whether or not to open it. He could, of course, knock, but that was not truly the approach he'd been aiming for. In fact, as he stood outside his own childhood house trying to buck up the courage to even enter, he tried to appear strong and confident-- how the son of Lucius Malfoy should have appeared. But his patience was wearing thin and he seemed almost unable to take the anxiety of all the waiting. Conclusively, he whisked open the front door, slightly surprised to find that it was left unlocked, and stepped into the front of the house.

The place was dark and almost haunting. There was something that stuck with him as he stared at the walls around him. Even though his parents had been so rushed to redecorate, he could still make out the small scratches that had torn the paper so harshly from the walls. Pettigrew was to blame for this; he was an anxious person in his life, and had taken to destorying the walls when his anxiety proved too heavy for him. But now, standing next to the damages, Malfoy had to keep his hands in his pockets to keep himself from nervously doing the same. But why? Why was it that he'd been so worried about ding something so stupid? Did he really have to contain himself from scratching the walls?

An advancing shadow disrupted him from his thoughts of insanity. Panting, Draco whirled around, felt his heart drop in his chest. Maybe he wasn't ready for this. Why was it that he'd been so keen to listening to Hermione Granger? He should have ignored her advise, told her to go away. However, doing such a thing seemed almost even foolish to think about. And the fact that he'd wanted her help scared him as much as the question of his happiness. For happiness was something he'd wanted so much that he was sure his determination was driving him utterly insane.

"Draco," came an unwanted voice. It was the voice of his father, who appeared almost glowingly white as he stood alone in the frame of the living room wall. Malfoy's posture drained of anything it had left. Slightly that of a melted slump, he shut his eyes, swallowing the heavy lump in the pit of his dry throat. "What are you doing?" his father asked in a voice that was so strong and unbreakable, "it's almost eleven at night." Malfoy opened his mouth, but was instantly cut off. Lucius Malfoy had begun his advancement. He took several clear steps towards his son and his eyes seemed to blaze as if on fire. Though it took several moments for Malfoy to notice that it was fire that was in fact lighting up his father's eyes; behind him, the fire place was popping loudly. "Where have you been?"

Malfoy stood, frozen, almost too afraid to say anything back to his father. He could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest and he felt even slightly faint. Dizzily, he managed to speak and his father seemed to even take notice to the dryness in his son's broken tone. "I... I n-need some time to myself. I figured even you'd appreciate some time away from me."

"Well," Lucius hissed, "you'd figured correctly."

Draco nodded, swallowed once again. "Right, well... I agree with you. I shouldn't have--"

"Shouldn't have _what?" _Lucius' voice was sharp, even while harshly cutting his son off. His eyes widened as he waited for Draco to continue and he looked tired, as if he truly had spent hours on end waiting up for him. "Shouldn't have lied to me? Shouldn't have told me that you were ready for something when it was quite obvious that you weren't?" Malfoy's eyes fell from his father's face and he instead took to staring back down at his shoes, which were still slightly muddy from the grass by the pond side. "Your mother was in hysterics. She'd truly thought that you'd been picking yourself up again. Go figure!"

There was something unsettling about seeing his father so upset. Sure, Malfoy had seen him act this way around men like Pettigrew, but Lucius Malfoy had always shown his son such care. That wasn't to say he'd never been angry with him, however, this fury was almost something new. And perhaps it was all the more nerve racking due to the fact that Draco Malfoy knew he'd deserved it. His mother's bit of false hope, that was his fault. Pansy and Goyle, that was too. So, consequently, he stood there unmoving, almost utterly unable to do so. Mortified, he was trapped in his illness, almost sulking as he stared at his shoes. His vision began to grow a bit hazy.

Finally, when Lucius seemed to understand that Draco was unusually quiet, he stopped, bent down lower to get a better view of his son's face. "What?" he asked in a loud voice, though Draco hadn't said anything, "what is that?" Draco flushed, hoping that his father hadn't noticed what he was sure he had. "Draco, what happened to your face?" His father seemed to be a bit taken back from his previous ranting. He'd almost seemed to forget what he'd been on about in the first place. And even though Draco knew that this was untrue, he took much appreciation in the fact that Lucius was distracted. "How did this happen?"

However, of course, Malfoy wished that something else was the cause of his father's distraction. He averted his eyes, tried to will away the lump in his throat, but it kept persisting. "It's nothing," he told him.

But this was probably the wrong move. Lucius' eyes flashed. Demandingly, he said sternly, "do not lie to me ever."

And, of course, he'd had a point. What was his deal anyway? Did he, Draco, think that he could just continue to dig himself deeper? Hermione was right- he'd needed more than anything to free himself from this rut, the rut that he'd created for himself. And more than anything he wanted to make things right with his father. A bit sheepishly, he said in a hoarse tone, "some... some guys--"

"Someone did this to you?" Lucius roared, taking on an entirely new bit of outrage. Never mind the fact that he'd just found out about it then. Lucius was almost completely beyond anger. But Draco's silence told him his answer. "Who?" he demanded, looking as if he could keel over at any instant. His fists were shaking. He looked as if he could punch in the wall. "Who did this to you, Draco?"

Malfoy paused, humiliated, and shrugged timidly. In a sore little voice, he said, "I didn't see their faces."

For a long moment, Lucius remained frozen. He looked as if he was about ready to commit some sort of murder. However, he paused, brought his hand up to his forehead, and sighed. Shutting his eyes, he clenched his teeth together and brought his chest down with a newfound sense of sincerity. "Alright, Draco," he said, slightly on the calm side, "are you alright?" Draco nodded in response. Then, when his father had seemed to see enough of his son so miserable, he leaned back again, allowing the redness to leak from his visage. "Well," he said with a sigh, "it's late... you should, uhm probably get yourself to bed."

Draco blinked. Conclusively, he looked up from the ground, tried to hide the water that had formed in his eyes. So much for being strong. So much for taking charge. Still, he was almost overwhelmed completely. He could feel himself overflowing. "I'm sorry, dad," he said.

Lucis' face paled and he took in the picture of his son as a whole. Draco Malfoy had never referred to his father as 'dad', but there was a slight closeness behind the word, and his irregularity as almost nullifying. Squaring his jaw, Lucius shifted his weight back from one leg to another. He gripped his walking stick and allowed himself finally to completely relax. "Right," he said gently, "well, your mother had your bed ready already. Despite everything, she was confident that you'd be home tonight." There was a hint of admiration in his eyes that Draco seemed to obviously miss.

Malfoy nodded. "Father," he said, as he paused at the top of the stairs, "does this mean I have to go back to therapy?"

It took a moment for his father to answer. Lucius' sinking shadow retreated back behind the frame in the wall. Cast against the walls, Draco could see his father's looming shadow. "I think," he said after a long moment of considering it, "that that might be a sensible option, Draco." And, finally, when Draco watched his father's shadow reach for his wand and out the fire in the fireplace, he began back up the stairs. However, there was no sadness in him left. He was, after all, in agreement. Whatever was happening to him, whatever had been happening to him, he needed to be fixed. He needed therapy, be it humiliating or revealing. He needed something.

He needed the radio.

As his fingers felt for it in his jacket pocket, he made his way back up to his bedroom and shut himself in. His father was right, his bed had been set, and the covers made it look almost cloud-like an inviting. So finally, as he pulled off his shoes, he lifted the radio from his clothes and flopped down on the mattress, feeling almost completely unsure how to feel at all.

* * *

**Vonne: **REVIEW


	27. Break Even

**Vonne:** Please excuse any spelling mistakes I've made in this one, especially. I must say that I've overindulged on pink champagne. Don't ever attempt at writing something after having an excessive amount of champagne. You may still be able to spell correctly, but you take the risk of nothing making any sense. Nonetheless, I'm going to preview this again after I write it. Still, forgive me for anything in the future that may ruin the flow of things.

**Mellowy Candescent: **I am so sorry that it's taken me so long to update this! I just got your review today and, believe me, I quickly finished this up as fast as I could. Of course, I'd started this the other night, when I wrote the above message. HA, but I kept it up there just so most of you could get a better understanding as to why it took me so long. Nonetheless, I still have no excuse. HA. I will try to never to take this much time again. But I'm so glad you liked it! I hope you like this chapter, too. :)

**......: **Well, since I didn't know exactly how to address you in this response, I figured-- why not just do the dots? HA :) Anyway. You'll be happy that Draco's now drunk in this one. Maybe you'll even like to see it go the other way around. However, Draco's a bit of an alcoholic. Depression usually comes with addictions in some sort. But know that I read your review and did this especially for you! :) Thanks for your interest!

**Dramione1996: **Yes! I thought including the fatherly side of Lucius was important. Plus, I've always known that the Malfoys were family oriented, ya know? :)

**Shining Bright Eyes: **I thought that the last part of the previous chapter was important. It's vital when someone REALIZES they have a problem instead of continuing to deny it. :) Anyway, I hope you like this chapter and I'm so glad you enjoyed the last one. I put as much effort into this as I did the previous one. HA, so my hopes are high!

**Lily18DM: **Oh, hello! I'm glad you read through all the way to chapter twenty six! That's a ton of reading that I'm glad you stuck with! I'm so happy that you consider my characters to be realistic. I've always tried especially hard for it to be that way and that's why everything may seem slow, but its only supposed to be gradual. And thank you so much for all the compliments! I love that you were excited to come home and read this! I hope that you're still just as thrilled, even though it took me forever to update this!

**Isabella120: **Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you liked them! And I'm sorry to hear that you were sick, but I'm glad that you're better! :)

**Sophia: **I thought so too! :) However, I think that Draco was a bit beat up in the books, we just were only given one side of the whole story. Remember how he confided in Moaning Myrtle? :) Maybe Draco's a bit of a lost person. Still, it's undoubtable that he made the wrong choices in life. Thanks for the review! I loved hearing your opinions and I'm so glad you liked it! :)

**Doni: **Thank you! Lucius is very disappointed, but he is Draco's father, after all. :) Thanks for all your constant reviews! I love them.

**Anavell: **Yes! He's finally starting to try and fix everything. Kind of a nice change, huh? :p

Anyway, longer chapter for all the time I took. Sorry again! :(

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Seven:  
Break Even**

Draco Malfoy was face up in his room, staring at the ceiling above him that seemed almost questionably endless. His bedroom was darkened and around him the curtains were drawn, plunging him into a blackness even deeper. Because he knew that it was the proper thing to do, he'd slipped himself under the covers, only managing to remove his tie and his muddy shoes. Still, under the covers from the shoulders down, Draco could feel his body shudder. He glanced down at the small radio on his chest and reached for it, holding down the little button for a long moment before deciding against actually speaking. What was he planning to do anyways? Inform Hermione that she had been correct in her suggestions?

He'd been foolish and he'd realized it almost embarrassingly too quickly. Though, since recognizing his faults had come almost uncharacteristically natural to him lately, such a revelation was hardly a surprise. He leaned back and with a twist of his wrist flicked the radio off of his chest. The tiny thing fell almost pathetically to the floor on the dark pile that was his bunched up jacket. Then with an elongated sigh, he rolled back his eyes, sat in comfort behind the solitude of his heavy eyelids. He was, in fact, far more tired than he'd initially expected. But it was sleep, however, that seemed to escape him. And the frustration was what seemed to keep him further from his goal of going under. The heart beating in his chest-- that was to blame; no, it was his buzzing brain. Surely, that was the true cause of his unsolvable misery.

The darkness around him didn't exactly close in, however, it was all the more daunting as it persisted. Against the wallpapered edges of his room, Pettigrew's scratch marks were still everlastingly present. And Draco no longer wanted to match them up with destruction of his own, instead he wanted to shred the wall of the printed paper entirely. Nonetheless, his body desired rest and refused to lift him. So, conclusively, he only stared in desire, wondering why he was only more and more passionate about destruction. And, for the most part, he could feel himself ignoring his tired eyes, staring at the wall back and forth as if he could mentally burn a hole into it.

And as the night lasted, lingering on much more longer than it should have, Draco Malfoy watched the room, the wallpaper, and the structure of the Manor in its entirety. Until finally, there was nothing particular left.

* * *

"Good morning!" Ron Weasley's friendly face was direct and sunny. His body was bent over completely and his palms rested on the caps of his steady knees. A bright smile rested on his face and his blue eyes were two sequins. The boyish glow that had truly never left Ron was ever so present, even so early in the morning. Still, looking quite dopey behind his attractively childish grin, he leaned forward and yanked the covers off of Hermione's covered face. "Get up, we're going to _breakfast!" _Unmistakable and obvious, the look of joy on his face over the idea of grabbing a bite to eat was rather inevitable.

Hermione blinked open her eyes, still pink and crusted from the night before. She remained quite lengthly stuck in the period of confusion that plagued her the several few moments before her mind actually woke up. Then, she noticed the visible radio resting on her chest and, hurriedly, she tossed it off of her, stuffing it underneath her ample supply of bed sheets. Then, she lightly rubbed her eyes, for they had been pressuring her to go back to sleep. The newfound light that leaked through the opened curtains of her windows, however, greatly prevented her from doing such a thing. Begrudgingly, she said in a delusional mumble, "breakfast? It's... what time is it?"

Ron, however, was paying only a fraction of attention. He pulled himself away and looked goofily back at Harry, who seemed to appear out of thin air at the frame of her bedroom door. "Well," he said with fast-paced aggression, "it's time to get up and go get something to eat, 'Mione. _That's _what time it is."

Yawning, Hermione gave Harry a pleading look, to which Harry only responded with a shrug. "I told him I'd treat him to lunch. Ginny's coming along." Then, squinting as if curious, Harry added, "these Weasleys... they love their food." But Ron wasn't paying much attention. Instead, he paced around the front of Hermione's bed like a lost dog and then located her discarded coat. With greedy hands he whisked the thing up off of the ground and shoved it out in her direction.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron said, a bit jittery as if he'd gone through food withdrawls. "You're killing me here."

Considering Ron's stature, Hermione did have to consider whether or not she was actually 'killing him'. The longer her silence lasted, the more he seemed anxious; Harry, on the other hand, seemed to only enjoy their back and forth. And, even though she'd have rather have done something else, Hermione realized that her friends were, of course, a largely important part of her life. Even though she was more than slightly annoyed with Ron's urgency, how could she say no to him? In a way, she loved Harry and Ron both more than she'd ever loved two men in her entire life. Thus, she reached forward and snatched the rancid thing out of Ron's pale fingers, trying to remain solemn at the sight of his renewed smile.

And so she allowed herself to be whisked out of the room entirely, grabbing the tossed aside radio before she had time to even think as to why. Furthermore, as the carried the damn toy in the depths of her jacket pocket, she was almost embarrassed of her need to carry it around. She thanked her lucky stars that the silly object had remained unnoticed and kept her mouth shut as she permitted the two boys to coax her along. With Ron in the front of her, his fast paced walks kept her in a consecutive pace, for if it weren't for him, she'd have been lost in all her wonder.

They pushed her through the busy streets of Hogsmeade and showed her to a table that was admittedly quaint. In the small little diner, she leaned back, watched Ron's eager face glance around the place whole-heartedly. In his eagerness he drummed his fingers on the surface of the rounded table top. Hermione considered this-- Ron, as a whole. He was once someone she'd thought she'd been in love with. But she'd never fallen lost that love with him. Their relationship was simply different. Because, quite frankly, Hermione found that she did truly love Ronald Wesley with all her heart. And while she did love him very much, she was not _in _love with him. Luckily, she'd realized that the feeling was mutual. Still, she couldn't help but smile back at the kind boy that she could never be sincerely annoyed with for too long.

"Ron," came a spare voice, that of Ginny Weasley, who stepped lightly through the front of the diner with a concerned expression, "I'm very much worried about you." She scanned the excitement on Ron's handsome visage and exchanged curious looks with Hermione herself. "He's horrifying when he's not fed, honestly." Then, as she leaned forwards to whisper jokingly in her brother's ear, she teased, "you need help."

"What I need is a ham sandwich," Ron replied begrudgingly, scrunching up his nose. Standing above him, Harry looped his arm around Ginny's shoulders and kissed her lightly on the cheek before pulling out her seat. At a much closer look Ginny was, as always, much younger looking than she actually was. Her soul was a much more matured one than her brother's, but appearance-wise, it was unquestionable that the two were related. Ginny's lovely red hair was just as obvious as the rest of her family's. It touched her broad shoulders lightly and flied out slightly behind her in the minimal wind. Her eyes were overwhelmingly radiant and her pale face was covered in freckles.

She crossed her legs at the top of her slender thighs, told Hermione that her brother was mental, and then started straight into a conversation. Ginny was, as always, as talkative as usual and Hermione pretended to listen. She couldn't deny herself from thinking back to the radio. Frustrated, she was overwhelmed about her obsessive attachment to the thing. Besides, she'd only just talked to Draco Malfoy the previous night. She should have been able to let the damn thing go. So then, why was it that she couldn't seem to drop the subject? Her care for Malfoy's well being was almost impossibly curious. For the brightest witch of her age, she should have been able to figure this out. More than honestly, she remained constantly curious.

Her curiosity was, however, short lived. Back from the end of her pocket, a short burst of invasive static emitted from her clothing. The slight buzzing made her jump; her eyes moved cautiously around the table, to the group of three around her that had more than obviously noticed. Ginny stopped her talking and Ron looked up from scanning the diner. A bout of obnoxious awkwardness sprang from the table and Hermione, plunging her hands into her pocket, wrapped her entire palm around the large speaker. Leaving it on was a mistake, of course, but something kept her from switching it off. Was she truly that interested in Draco Malfoy?

Decisively, she coughed, clearing her throat in a sound that she tried to make sound more like static. "Excuse me," she said, continuing to produce raspy grumbling noises, "something got caught in my throat." Ron raised a brow and bent down, the first interest he'd taken in anything since the delay of his sandwich. His hurried eyes scanned her front, eyeing the lump in her pocket inquisitively. "erm..." Hermione stammered, her palm still covering the noisy toy, "excuse me momentarily."

Rushed and straight postured, Hermione walked away from the table, her eyes wide with worry. Additionally, she rounded the corner away from the remaining three, pressed her back up to the brick wall of the place, and yanked the radio from her pocket. At first she glared at the thing, waiting for the noise to come up again and only when it finally did, did she allow herself to breathe out again. "Uhmm... hello?" came the voice of Malfoy, who sounded posh still even in his invasively stuttering voice.

"Yes, hello," Hermione said, instantly cross. "You do realize that it is the middle of the day, don't you?"

She could hear a slight grumble from Malfoy's side of the radio. "Uhm... yes," he replied, mocking her only slightly, "I'd figured that much out for myself, thank you."

"So then," she called back testily, "what are you _doing _with this thing in the middle of the morning?"

"I'm not even going to bother telling you that I could ask you the same question, Granger," Draco said bluntly, his voice rather monotonous through the radio.

Considering this, Hermione crossed her arms across her chest. Her reddened face seemed to remain humiliatingly present. "Touche," she finally said after a short while. However, she snapped herself out of her admiration and fixed herself to become stiff again. "However, I still don't see why---"

"I need to talk to you," Draco said, cutting her off. His tone was now only desperate. Pleadingly, he added with as much conviction as Hermione could take, "Goyle... he's still bitter with me. I'd like for that to end. And, since you were surprisingly correct on your ideas with my parents, I'd only figured that you'd be just as just for this type of thing."

Hermione's eyes softened. All the while, she both wanted to strangle and help out Draco Malfoy. Nonetheless, she counteracted, "I'm at breakfast."

But there wasn't even a minor pause. Directly after she'd finished talking, Draco said, "I know. I can see you."

Hermione raised her whole head. She passed on scanning with her eyes and instead moved her entire skull around the area in front of her. But the streets were bustling with passersby, and not a single one of them could she make out to be Draco. Though, in the midsts of her search, Draco Malfoy's scolding voice said through the radio, "don't stare, people are going to notice."

"No one's going to notice anything," Hermione snapped, only slightly due to her climbing frustration, "because I don't even see you."

Malfoy's voice was now that of a grumble. Bitterly, he said, "well, that's the point." And then Hermione spotted him; there, straight across from her, leaning hidden at the nearest building. He was, in all aspects, covered from head to toe. He wore a long gray scarf around his slender white neck and the collar to his dark pea coat was popped up. As a matter of fact, she couldn't even see any sign of his signature blond head, though she'd suspected it was somewhere underneath the newsboy cap he'd had pulled down low over his while cranium. However, she could tell that it was him right away-- could tell just by the sight of those cold, gray eyes. They stuck out from the shadow of his over excessive attire like a pair of shining bright headlights. It was, of course, his dead giveaway.

At the first sight of him, Hermione put the radio down. Shooting her arm back down to her side, she leaned forward, whisper-yelling over to him, hissing, "what are you _doing?" _

But Draco instead picked back up his radio. Hermione could see his slender white fingers gripping the rather bulky black radio contradictorily. "I was trying to find you, go figure," he informed her, impatiently, "and so I've found you."

"And yet, nothing is being accomplished," Hermione said testily. Her brown eyes shifted over to the cluster of her friends, seated at the table. Ginny was back in full swing; she'd started her conversation with Harry, who was listening with a smile plastered on his rather attentive face. Ron had been granted his wish of having something to eat and, currently, he was devouring his sandwich as if he hadn't had a thing to eat in days. She wondered for a moment how he'd stayed so thin, and then admired the relationship that Ginny and Harry shared. Perhaps a bit excessively envious, she forced herself to look away from the practically disgusting couple.

Draco snorted, drawing himself back. She could see the way he positioned himself on the wall that stood away from her. He leaned back, looked a little bit jittery, and said out loud, "which is why we need to hurry. Goyle holds grudges."

"And I have a lunch with my friends," Hermione interjected, half wishing that she could go along with Draco anyway. However, she consistently found herself thinking about how her friends would feel. Surely, she couldn't just simply walk off. Even in the distance, Hermione could see Draco's head lull backwards. He breathed out and looked sincerely disappointed; as if he'd wasted all that precious time stalking her. "Look," she said sorrily, "I'll help you out later. I can't leave yet. Not now."

Malfoy's face reddened. Then, giving up, he leaned back into the radio. Hermione rolled her eyes, watching him insist upon speaking into it. No one was going to have any idea that she'd been talking to him, anyway, even if she had been yelling to him from across the street. However, she obliged to his wishes and raised the silly thing back up towards her ear. From there she heard him say, "fine, b-but this needs to be fixed."

"Alright, Malfoy," Hermione said back rushed, "You want my advice?"

"Do you have to ask?"

"Don't try and talk into this thing in the broad daylight ever again." Then, after her harshness, she looked up and gave him a sly little smile. However, Malfoy was far too oblivious to take any notice to it whatsoever. Instead, he balled up his fists, slammed the radio back down childish and frustrated into his pocket, and stalked away from her, turning the corner like a child that didn't get its way. And then for the moment when she felt like following him, she had to almost physically restrain herself from moving a single muscle. Once she'd managed to find the restraint, however, she put on a false skip and made her way back towards the table, turning the radio off and taking her seat soothingly. "So," she said with a smile that was more nerve racking than she'd expected, "what did I miss?"

* * *

A slight drizzle was beginning to fall over the house and Draco Malfoy, who was standing vulnerably outside in it, stared on at the doorstep of Gregory Goyle. There was a rather curious look about him as he considered the building. Covered in a twist of green vines, the quaint little home was everything that he'd never imagined Goyle to be. Of course, nothing about anyone Draco had thought he'd known had seemed consistent and, restless, he quickly took back any pre-made assumptions he'd already made about reentering the house. Perhaps Goyle wasn't still angry with him... perhaps he'd be in the clear.

Or, in a more probable event, Goyle had heard about the cancelled wedding. Of course, Pansy had probably told him. However, Draco was only presuming. Without truly knowing much about anything anymore, he was starting to see the large flaw in his social accusations. He had lost his ability to see such things and now, residing in the darkness of uncertainty, Draco tossed his head to one side and nervously chewed the bottom of his lower lip. A light bit of rain dropped down on the tip of his nose, making him wince. The scarf around his neck had come loose and only hung there like a loose piece of soaking wet decoration.

Well, now or never. But at the rate Draco was going, it would seem that he was leaning towards never. His anxious hand remained pitched above the doorknob and he seemed sincerely shocked that he could not move forward to open the door. And what was wrong with him? Was it really that he no longer possessed the confidence to barge in and fix the mess he'd made with his friend? Did he have no sense of self-worth? Or, perhaps, he _did_ have a sense of self-worth... perhaps he'd had a very realistic sense of it after all.

A nervous chill ran up his spine. He shouldn't have been nervous, shouldn't have been anything but calm, collected, and composed. He was, in reality, a Malfoy. He wasn't supposed to feel anything of the sort. But now he was starting to think that a Malfoy without his sanity wasn't really much of a Malfoy at all. Perhaps it was time to let all of his previous inhibitions go for a change. He'd been wrong almost consistently from now on, so what other proof did he have?

Now or never, he repeated again, swallowing the large lump that bothered him relentlessly. Now or absolutely, inevitably, utterly never. An ample amount of encouragements flooded through his mind and, though only false flattery, Draco Malfoy chose to listen to his unconscious mind. He buttered himself up by saying mentally, "what are you afraid of? What's the worst that could even happen? You didn't _technically_ know that you were doing anything wrong in the first place. Just... just explain that to Goyle. He'll understand, of course." Now or never, go for the plunge, take the dive and leap already.

However, nature itself seemed overly impatient already. As Draco wasted his time standing limp at the door ahead of him, a slight wind picked up. The notion of well overdue coincidence overtook the scene entirely. The door ahead of him whisked open with a rush and Malfoy stumbled back, clutching his useless scarf with the cold tips of his pale fingers. He gave a timid gasp, reeved back, and stared at the shadow before him with wide eyes. "Draco," said the figure monotonously, "what are you doing?" The shadow was large and bulky, undoubtedly that of Gregory Goyle himself. He was wrapped in his robe and the socks on his feet were mismatched and unfitting. His eyes were narrow and there was an almost rancid stench about his breath that made Draco squish his face together disgustedly.

"I came here to talk with you, Goyle," Draco said once he'd managed to regain himself. He was, in his own way, much more composed than he'd figured himself to be, however, he still managed to pull off appearing crooked and awkward. Nonetheless, he pulled off 'collected' much better than Goyle had. The big man was perched in the doorframe, eyes moving around like an observant bat's. His short hair seemed to have grown only slightly, and the facial hair that surrounded his jaw was unkempt and a bit out of place. "Goyle?" Draco asked again, bending forward to get a closer look at his friend's face. Goyle, however, seemed to take notice to Draco curiosity and, apparently embarrassed, he glanced away to avoid any eye contact. "Do you mind if I come in?"

Goyle lifted his meaty hand and scratched the gruff of his chin. Shrugging, he rolled his eyes, plunged his hands into his pockets, and headed back inward on the balls of his feet. Draco followed in after, looking meek and curious on his own. But Goyle's place was an absolute wreck. The fireplace was the only source of light in the entire living room and there was three open bottles of wine spread out upon the surface of the table. Over the past couple of days, Draco considered that Goyle didn't want to suspect that Goyle could have consumed that much. However, Goyle's actions were pointing to the fact that he had certainly done so. "H-How..." Draco started, standing in the middle of the living room, glancing around wildly at every passing change, "how have you been?"

The large man flopped down on the living room couch. He'd place a pre-filled glass of liquor at he coffee table and plucked it up with his sausage-like fingers. "I haven't seen Pansy in a week, he informed Draco, fascinated by the light of the flickering fire. "She probably doesn't even want to look at me again."

"Why would she not want to look at you?" Draco asked, continuing to scan the interior of the home.

Goyle's face morphed. He tossed Draco a sarcastic look. Gone was the somber sadness that he had so recently taken a hold of, now it was more than time for his anger to shine. "Why would she not want to look at me?" he mocked bitterly. "_Why?_ I made a complete fool of myself in front of her-- don't look at me like I didn't. I completely threw myself at her and all the while she was interested in _you!_ I... I even cleaned up the house and made lunches. I wore _cologne!" _

Malfoy's shoulders sunk. He took to moving about the messy building and his fingers picked up the empty bottles sprawled on the table. As he put each of them in the garbage bin, he grabbed the dish rag off of the sink. Wetting it, he ran the rag across the top of the table. He took to picking up the discarded chairs. Helplessly, he replied, "you always wear cologne."

"Not this shit," Goyle retracted, lifting up the bottle that just happened to be out next to him. "I actually _paid_ 20 pounds for this waste of money." He lifted the small bottle and thrust it against the couch across from him. The little thing hit the cushion and bounced up minutely. "She said it smelled like moss."

Sighing, Malfoy finished up tidying the kitchen area, and while the place didn't sparkle with cleanliness, it was very much of an improvement. Next, feeling parental, he made his way towards the sink and ran it, washing all of the food-stained plates that sat lifelessly in it. "I didn't notice you smelt like moss."

Goyle snorted, "yeah, you don't notice much, do you?"

Wincing, Malfoy swallowed his pride. Goyle, of course, had a point. Still, he decided against uselessly trying to defend himself-- even when Goyle was completely intoxicated, Draco knew that he really didn't have much of a chance of winning that discussion. He stuck to cleaning up the wreck that Goyle shamefully called a residence. Lifting his foot, he kicked shut the oven that had been left recklessly unopened, and advanced towards Goyle. On his way, he whisked up the blanket draped across the back of the spare couch and spread it lightly over Goyle's body. But Goyle only made a face, slapped it off with the back of his hand. "Draco?" Goyle said once he'd watched the wool blanket slip completely to the ground.

"Yeah?" Malfoy asked back, staring back down at the rejected cover on the floor. He couldn't help but feel a bit hurt at the denial of it.

"Don't patronize me."

Malfoy sighed and flopped back down on the other couch, his hands resting limply in the seat of his lap. He breathed out rather softly and then, with a loud groan, he thrust his head into the palms of his hands, allowing Goyle to stare down at him in fury. "Malfoy, I don't have all night, okay? I've got other things to get to." But Goyle looked as unmotivated as he'd ever been. He was practically melted on the cushions of the couch and appeared as if he'd had absolutely no desire to leave the comfort of it any time soon. "So, get on with whatever you're here to say. You have a wedding to get to, anyway, don't you?" Then, spitting, Goyle said harshly, "go and start your life."

But Malfoy looked up from the palms of his hands. Perspiring slightly, he leaned forward, seemed to glisten with desperation. "No, no... Goyle... I'm not getting married anymore!" A desperate smile spread across his face, hoping that the news would instantly fix things. However, Goyle's face did not morph into that of an uplifting visage. Instead, Goyle's exterior only reddened. He seemed to put on an expression of even further unhappiness, much to Draco's horror. His face slipped slightly and he seemed sincerely morose in all his lost glory. "What?" he said, draining of any color, "what? what's... what's wrong?"

"What'd you do, Malfoy?" Goyle slurred, edging himself up off of the couch. He looked almost unwillingly furious, as if such a feeling had been almost unavoidable. But he drunkenly raised his fists in the air and looked ready to knock Maloy's lights out. "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing!" Malfoy said defensively, but he too reeled up from the couch, holding his hands out in defense. He had no doubt that Goyle would sock him if he had the chance to. But Draco wasn't going to give Goyle that chance. Instead he let his chest sink, appeared utterly defenseless behind his raised palms. And while his wand rest in the back of his pocket, he wasn't ready to pull it out; furthermore, he didn't believe that Goyle deserved such a threat. "I, just told her how I truly felt, Goyle. I just told her..."

Goyle's face contorted. He looked ugly and drunk with rage. "Your _true_ feelings?" he asked with red faced advancement. His eyebrow raised and his eyes narrowed. "Your true _feelings?_"

Malfoy's face drained entirely. "Yeah... my true feelings."

"And _what_ are your true feelings, Malfoy?" Goyle said, but this time he actually managed to charge for his friend. With one fast moving hand, he whisked Malfoy up off of the ground with a steady fist. Draco gasped, but he was to late to defend himself. With a little gasp, Draco was dragged to the edge of the living room and his back hit the wall instantly. Goyle was strong, nonetheless, and had held Draco up firmly, keeping him only slightly elevated from the ground. Malfoy's arms flew up to the spot where Goyle had his raised. His tie was beginning to tighten, choking him quickly. But Goyle's eyes were locked in to Draco's, a burning fire raging behind them. "Answer me!" he yelled loud and demanding, "what did you do?"

Breathing hard, Draco couldn't help but pant. He gripped Goyle's fat fingers, trying to pry them off. However, he seemed to loose the desire to free himself. He couldn't deny the seriousness in his best friend's eyes. Instead, he sunk lower, gave up on everything entirely. "I never wanted to marry Pansy..." he said hoarsely, the lump once again growing heavily in his throat. "I never... I was never in love with her."

Only a short moment passed between them. Goyle looked as if he'd just been seeing Malfoy for the first time. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open ever so slightly. Then he snapped out of his well deserved delusion. His face turned the most intense shade of scarlet that Draco had ever seen. Goyle's fingers tightened around his collar anxiously. He pulled Draco away from the wall and then slammed him back down. There was the most intoxicated glaze behind his once newly friendly eyes, but now all of that seemed to be more than obviously missing. "You lied to me? You lied to _her_!" He roared, lifting his spare hand in the air. Then, consequently, he balled it in a fist.

Draco slammed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the punch. His face was melting, otherwise solemn with the new bout of self realization. Once again he had the desire to tear the walls apart. He could hear a bustle of voices running around in his head, mocking him. They told him that they had told him so, that all his planning was, of course, useless. True happiness, they said happily despite all his terror, was not for Draco Malfoy. Then, conclusively, Goyle decided not to waste any more time. He brought his palm to Draco's face with a hard swing and once he'd come in contact with Draco's visage, the very moment that he slammed his fist into Draco's face, he dropped him and swore loudly, "fuck!"

Both of the boys flopped to the ground on impact; Goyle with a disappointed sigh and Malfoy with an injured groan. Malfoy's arms flew up to his nose, which was now pouring blood. His back slid down the wall in the very same way that Goyle's did. But the both of them were defeated. Goyle extended his legs out in front of him and Malfoy did the same, pressing his blond head back against the wall as the blood dripped out from it. The two of them panted together, almost rhythmically, seated lifeless in the silence.

The voices that flooded through Draco's mind had just begun to subside. They faded out with the silence, enjoying the sight of seeing Draco now more than ever. With his hands up at his nose, he sniffed, trying to blink out the tears that filled his eyes. Sure, the punch had hurt him, but that wasn't the cause for any of his sadness. He resisted the urge to even feel embarrassed about it, because what good would that do him now? He'd already made the biggest fool out of himself that he could have possibly made. There was no lower that he could sink. However, Goyle was the first to speak. Though Draco had been thinking about what he'd wanted to say for quite some time. Goyle, taking the nerve to do so first, crunched up his face. He said in a matter of fact tone, "I'm drunk."

But Draco couldn't blame him there. Sure, the tables were turned, but there was no way that Draco was in any place to scold him. He would have done the same thing in Goyle's situation. He shook his head, dropping his hands from his face. Since it happened to be a continual trend, he didn't bother wiping himself free of the red mess. Instead, he just leaned back and limply frowned. "I'm sorry," he said sadly.

However, Goyle shook his head. In turn, he shut his eyes. His spare hand cradled his fist, as if he'd hurt it in the process of punching Malfoy. "It's not your fault," he said with true effort, "you're sick."

For a moment, Draco froze. He let his hands trail on the floor of Goyle's home. He didn't even bother being hurt over Goyle's accusation; he'd known such a thing already. His father had made it quite clear that he'd agreed, and now Goyle. In fact, Draco Malfoy was beginning to believe the majority himself. And as the two sat there together in their own thoughts, Malfoy heard Goyle slump slightly in his spot. His hefty figure slid down the edge of the wall and, with one big snore, he flopped to the ground entirely. And with the fire still glowing, Draco remained still, staring ahead in the orange light darkness until even he wasn't conscious anymore.

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**Vonne: **REVIEW!


	28. Loss of Words

**Vonne:** Only two more chapters left, everyone! You can definitely expect a relationship to start between Hermione and Draco before the second part to this. Perhaps in the next chapter? ;)

**Lily18dm: **Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you liked it. And I definitely agree with you on the gradual bits. It's just far more realistic that way. Hermione and Draco used to despise one another. If I want to make a relationship possible than I have to consider what would have happened realistically. The next chapter is when I'm planning on end the flirting-- if you catch my drift. So I'm hoping that all the gradual flirts will have made for a more convincing moment. It builds anticipation that way, you know? :)

**Anavell: **HA thank you! Of course Hermione would spot him. It's silly how sly Draco assumes he is, when really, he's not that great at it.

**Doni: **Exactly. Goyle's actions were actually rather justified. Besides, he was drunk beyond belief and Draco may have just needed a friendly punch in the face to snap him out of things. I tired to make this chapter more of one where the two come to an ever deeper agreement. So they're not only just on terms, but are friends again. Draco needs friends, I think. ;)

**Isabella120: **I'm really glad that you liked the last chapter! :) I love that you review on all my chapters. It's so nice to read all of them, even the tiny ones. It's all good HA. Thanks again, girl! I really appreciate it!

**Jade2099: **Exactly! It is definitely important that Draco's realizing that he needs help. And his relationship with Hermione is vital because she's actually the side of him that has all the common sense. She just about balances him out. :) But you're definitely on to something there- Hermione still needs to figure herself out, too. They both went through the same war, the same horrible experiences. I'm definitely going to touch base on that in the second one. That, at Draco's sanity aspect. ;)

**Mellowy Candescent: **Aw! I'm so exceedingly glad that you're enjoying this! It seriously makes me want to write more. I'm sorry that it took a little bit longer for me to update, but I hope the wait was worth it! :)

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**Chapter Twenty Eight:  
Loss of Words**

Goyle gave a heart-filled groan. He lifted his large hand up to his head, which was throbbing much more fiercely that he'd expected. He shut and opened his eyes, blinking up into the light that shed down in the living room of his house. He'd been covered in a blanket and there was a rather squished pillow at his side. The imprint of his massive head was still ever so present. In the way he rubbed his balled up fists at his eyes, he winced at the soreness that stung them. His throat was dry and scratchy and he'd figured that he had never been more hungover in his entire life. Muttering drowsily to himself, Goyle grunted, pulled himself up from the floor, and swallowed nothing in particular. "Draco," he said with a tired tone, "what are you doing?"

In the corner of his lit up house, Draco Malfoy seemed to be not even slightly affected by the bright lights. However, he took instant note of Goyle's discomfort and with his wand, dimmed the lights. He put on an apologetic face and then turned back to the kitchen, where he'd been fixing some tea. He scooted over and, as he advanced towards his friend, the sleep-deprived Goyle had to do a double take. Draco was swimming underneath Goyle's kitchen apron, and he looked a bit silly in it. His blond hair was matted and unkempt and, despite the robe, he looked a right mess. "You're wearing my cooking apron?" Goyle asked, raising an eyebrow. He still had to squint to get a better look at Daco as an entirety.

"If I spilt anything else on my clothes I wouldn't hear the end of it from my mother." He looked down as if he was trying to peer through the apron fabric to get a better look at his spoiled button up. "There's blood stains on it already." Then, after he'd finished examining his awful state, he sniffed, continuing towards Goyle with a slight limp. Draco's nose was still significantly covered in dried blood, his eye was just turning yellow from previously being black and blue. "Here," he said, extending out a cup of tea.

Considering the tea, Goyle ran a hand through his head of short hair. His eyes caught sight of Draco's nose once again and, sloppily, he asked, "I did that?"

"You did!" Malfoy said, his mouth upturning in a sly little smile. His eyes brightened, as if a father proud of his son for hitting a home run. He reeled back slightly and then lifted his free hand to touch his swollen nose. "But, let me tell you, mate, I think you've still got that strength in you somewhere. You may not know it but, really, you got me good." He lifted his chin, glanced down at Goyle to see if he'd made any sort of impact. "Take a look at this, huh? You knocked my entire nose out of place!" Looking thrilled, Draco showed off his slanted nose, kept the brilliant beam pitched on his face. "Quite the arm you got there."

But Goyle was far from amused. He stared at Draco's face begrudgingly and narrowed his eyes. Looking sour, he said seriously, "it's not funny, Draco."

Malfoy's face melted. Going a bit morose, he glanced down at the floor, drew his sleeve across his face, and shook his head. "You're right," he said conclusively, "absolutely right. Not funny." With a timid sigh, Draco placed Goyle's tea cup next to his friend on the floor. He droopily took a seat next to him, looking just as limp as Goyle. Exhaling, he tried to avoid his reflection in the surface of his own tea cup. In all honesty, he'd been a little repulsed by the sight of his nose when he'd first seen it this morning. Nonetheless, Draco made a slight grunt, tossed his head back, and then turned back to Goyle. In all his dismantled glory, he said in a tone that he deemed helpful, "I meant what I said last night, Goyle. I _am _sorry."

"Yeah," Goyle responded back stiffly, "I meant what I said, too." Draco's face faltered. Goyle had remembered saying that? Perhaps that only just spoke to the vitality of his comment the night before. However, Draco chose to ignore it, stifled as if he'd only just barely heard him. The moment of saying nothing passed on heavily. Neither of the two seemed to think of anything important that needed to be put out there. Goyle had said all he'd needed to say and Draco, of course, was completely out of ideas to throw out. Nonetheless, Goyle breathed in. He stared down at the tea cup, looking sorry for the trouble Draco had gone to prepare it. Picking it up would be a sign that he'd been forgiven, but it took moments for Goyle to decide if he was going to even touch it. His mouth moved minutely. He turned to Draco and asked with a drowsy grumble, "what even motivated you to break off the engagement in the first place? Then come to apologize to me about it?"

Digging feverishly into the depths of his pocket, Draco produced the tiny radio, tossed it lifelessly on Goyle's lap. He didn't bother to look for the curious expression on Goyle's face, instead, he picked up his own tea cup and faced his reflection dead on. Perhaps he'd keep the broken nose. "This toy?" Goyle said, staring down at the black object, "a children's toy?" He lookde back up, blinking in Draco's direction. "I knew it. You were spending way too much time with this thing." Goyle's voice reeked with suspicion, as if he wasn't completely sure whether or not to consider the toy a good thing or a bad thing. Still, lifting his shoulders, he added inquisitively, "I don't understand."

"You speak into it..."

Goyle's eyes narrowed. "Yeah," he said unamused, "I get that part, Draco. Who are you talking to?"

Still, Draco Malfoy didn't bother to look up from his cup. He considered lying only for a moment, but then helpfully decided against doing so. What was the use of such a thing? He'd only just started to crawl out of his self-made hole and he wasn't, of course, looking to sink any further within its depths. "Promise you won't say a word to anyone?" he asked, allowing himself to stay frozen.

Considering this, Goyle lifted an eyebrow. His eyes were still soft from the glaze of alcohol, but he managed to look as attentive as utterly possible. "Alright," he said timidly, pushing back his own hair in nervous anticipation, "alright, I promise."

Malfoy didn't even adjust his focus. He examined his black eye, figured that it may still take a while to heal on its own. And with the new wound that Goyle had added to his face, there was not much hope for the appearance of Draco's exterior. He lowered his shoulders, adjusted his jaw and said solemnly, "Hermione Granger."

Goyle's mouth twitched slightly. In disbelief, he said with a shaky voice, "be serious." However, he turned back to his tea, sipping it as if he'd only managed to slightly find what he'd considered to be a joke as funny. But Draco didn't say a word. Instead, he shrugged, averted his eyes, and downed as much tea as he possibly could. "Hermione Granger?" he said, getting serious. The smile on his face melted away at once. His glossy eyes froze and he tilted his head as if to try and get a better look at Draco. His mouth moved simply as he asked his friend slyly, "Draco, what are you talking about?"

"I've been getting... advise." He paused, dabbed at his nose, "... from Hermione Granger."

"Granger!" Goyle said, whisking himself up from the ground. He lifted the radio up to his face as if to examine it. "Hermione Granger... Harry Potter's friend? That Hermione Granger?"

Malfoy stared at the soles of his scuffed shoes. "I was unaware that you knew another," he said flatly.

Running his meaty palm over the front of his face, Goyle appeared to be both a mixture of horrified and impressed. He dropped the radio to his side and stood above Draco Malfoy, his big shadow covering Malfoy entirely. Standing still, he looked down at Malfoy, and then back at the toy. And for a long while he continued to carry on this way. His left eye twitched ever so slightly, he seemed rather lost completely. His face mellowed. His breath finally grew less and less intense. "You're not kidding."

Shaking his head, Malfoy considered how long it would take for his split lip to mend.

"I-Is t-that a good thing?" Goyle asked, leaning forward, still staring down at the radio, "is talking to erm-- Hermione Granger... helping you out?"

Malfoy snorted. He finally seemed to loose interest in his beaten reflection. As if he were in disbelief himself, he snorted, "ha! actually, she's more help than I could ask for." He looked back down, a solemn expression regrouping back on his pale face. "Go figure," he said again, sadly.

"Well," Goyle said, his hand still up on his head, "such a thing _would_ happen to you, Draco. It's karma." Then, after breathing out conclusively, Goyle decided out loud, "well, I think it's good for you. Yeah, to have someone you've grown comfortable talking to. I mean, why not?"

Throwing up his hands, a bit defeated to tell the truth, Draco Malfoy mimicked Goyle's tone of voice, said with a falsely hopeful smile, "why not!"

Goyle's face twitched up into a smile. His eyes gleamed and he seemed not to take any such notice nonsense. Instead, he straightened himself up, reached for his tea wistfully, and said with a lovely little smile, "that's the spirit!" He looked up from the edge of his tea cup and gave Draco a slightly curious glance. However, he ignored Malfoy's obvious sarcasm. He was, in fact, starting to feel less and less hungover. At the new revelation of Draco's companionship, his mood seemed to have been lifted. Sure, he was utterly shocked at first, having unexpected such an event in the first place, but now he'd evolved. Perhaps more keen to the idea, he tilted his massive skull to one side and waited for Draco to say something- even if it were to be something contradictory.

Malfoy looked up inquisitively. He seemed both a mixture of embarrassed and frustrated. "Aren't you taking this a little too well, Goyle mate?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow. As he did so, he could feel the cut at the top of his forehead stretch with the merely minute movement.

Lowering his tea cup, Goyle swallowed his drink quickly. He winced at the warm liquid falling down his throat. A little too eager to speak, he said as the tea poured down the front of his face, "perhaps, Draco, perhaps. However, it's not _my_ life. _I'm_ not getting friendly with Hermione Granger. No, no, don't get me wrong, Draco, I think it is great that you've found someone you enjoy talking to-- what?"

"How do you know that I enjoy it?" Malfoy challenged, raising his shoulders. His face took on the expression of having been completely grossed out. A hypothetical chill might have gone up his entire body if he had been disgusted by Goyle's comment. However, the movement was only a pretend one. Rather, he hadn't been absolutely comfortable with Goyle knowing every last detail about his 'relationship' with Hermione Granger, if there even was a relationship to investigate. Although still, he wasn't ready to be scrutinized. Despite this, Draco Malfoy's acting was not, as usual, up to par. Goyle's face melted and he caught on to Draco's faux feelings right away, made a quick sarcastic expression with the muscles in his face.

"How do I know it?" he asked with a brand new smile. This one seemed to only layer on top of the previous one, making it twice as grand. "Well," he said again, "you carry that radio around with you where ever you go, for starters."

Malfoy's face fell. His eyes dropped to the radio that was sticking out of the top of his jacket pocket. He felt his face flush or, rather, actually blush. He quickly forced himself sane, shaking the red tint away from his visage with harsh aggression. "You're..." he said almost practically at an utter loss for the proper words, "you're mental."

"Draco, mate, you're the mental one. Don't forget," Goyle added, lifting a finger. He advanced towards Draco, offered him a hand, and when he'd pulled his friend up into the light, his joyful expression completely faded. "Oh Merlin!" he said, wincing, "I actually _broke_ your nose. On top of all that other shit you have going on, too." Concerned going on completely consumed by pity, Goyle reeled backwards reaching out a hand to softly poke the exterior of Draco's lopsided nose. Malfoy watched him furiously, his eyes merely just two narrow slits. Then, pulling his hand away, Goyle wiped his newly bloody finger on the front of his liquor sod shirt. "I only added to your err-- facial dilemma." He took notice to Draco's unamused grimace, looked around desperately for his wand, "you want me to fix it for you?"

"I'd rather you stay several feet from my face for a long while, Goyle, actually," Draco responded, backing up. He bent forward and retrieved his coat off of the ground. Picking up his tea, he inched towards the kitchen table, set the cup down on the top of it, and slipped each coat sleeve over his individual arms. "Or else you'll never be able to recognize me due to the bloody pulp you'll have made of me."

Goyle's shoulders fell. Begrudgingly he said with a monotonous tone of voice, "glad to see you've got your personal sunshine back again."

However, Malfoy wasn't given much of a time to respond. From the bottom of his jacket pocket, the all too familiar static noise sounded out into the kitchen of Goyle's unusually messy home. At his place, Goyle froze. Malfoy did the same, his eyes locking within his friend's in an utter instant. Then, as the two stayed lifelessly still, the voice of Hermione Granger said in a tired tone, "Oy! You there? Oy, Malfoy!"

But Malfoy was the first of the two to move. His long, slender fingers plummeted into his pocket and he produced the tiny thing. "Yeah," he said, matching her slightly rushed tone, "yeah, I'm here." He ignored Goyle's taken back expression. He watched Draco fumble with the radio, his head tilted cautiously to one side. Then, curious, he kept his mouth shut, deciding upon not saying a word at all. Although Draco had turned his back away from Goyle completely, slightly embarrassed about his excitement over the silly toy. He arched his shoulders upwards, spoke into the radio as if he were telling it something absolutely private.

"Hey, err-- I'm sorry I couldn't help you yesterday. Did you manage to sort things out with Goyle?"

On impact, Malfoy flushed. He breathed out, running a clammy hand through his mop of blond hair. "... yea," he said sheepishly, ignoring Goyle's chuckles from behind him.

Even Goyle could hear Hermione almost audibly smile through the speakers. He waltzed around Draco, bending over so he could get a better look at Draco's embarrassed expression. But Malfoy kept his head down, his visage more than obviously beet red. "See!" Hermione said with a slightly victorious yell, "I knew you could do it!" Finally looking up, Malfoy only glanced up at Goyle with his eyes. His pitched down head did not move even slightly, but certainly Gregory Goyle got the hint. He covered his obviously loud laughing with a false fit of dry heaves. "Well, anyway uh, Draco... I was in the clearing earlier and I was wondering what you were doing currently."

"Now?" Draco blinked, his face slipping. He went from being absolutely annoyed to ravishingly dumbstruck. "As in right now? I'm... I'm wandering," he lied.

"Oh, well, if you wanted to meet me here." Once she'd suggested it, however, she instantly took it back. With lively aggression, she covered her foolishness up with a slight cough of her own. "Strictly for business reasons, of course. To, err, work out the next... step in..."

"Moving forward?" Malfoy offered, feeling slightly helpful.

"Yes," Hermione said, "that."

Goyle raised his thick brows. He had, of course, received quite a kick out of listening to Draco's conversation. He was forced to bite his bottom lip, cross his arms across his chest anxiously. "Sure," Draco said, "I'll... uhh... be there."

Hermione's voice was a bit loud and somewhat thrilled. "Alright, brilliant!" she beamed, and then, without another word, her line went completely silent.

"What conversation!" Goyle said, his face completely taken over by his smile now. However, his amusement went completely ignored by Draco, who finished putting on his jacket and chose to ignore Goyle's antics. He swallowed his pride and decided against saying anything in his defense. Still, there was something uplifting about being able to see Hermione. And though he didn't know why he'd had such a desire to meet her in the forrest clearing, he continued to fully compose himself. Having completely forgotten about his beaten face, he kicked on his shoes and tied them messily. They were battered in their own way, scratched from the previous night before. Goyle watched Malfoy revive himself, remaining frozen in his hypnotized scrutiny. With his smile slightly beginning to fade, he put on a newly concerned facial expression and remained nothing but surely quiet.

Then finally, when he was sure Draco was simply just going to bolt out of the front door, Goyle said worriedly, "don't do something stupid, Draco. Remember that you're not even in the right state of mind right now, okay?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. Still rushed, he said with a lack of breath, "you were the drunk one, Goyle. And don't patronize me."

But Goyle was unconvinced. Watching Malfoy rush out the front door of his living room, he was hot on his heels. "Hey, Draco. Draco! L-Listen to me! Oy!" As Malfoy made his way completely out of the front door, Goyle pushed his body out of his home along with him. However, he only clung to the front doorframe. He called out over the sweep of wind that rushed around him, "Remember who you're talking to, Draco! Hermione _Granger!" _But Draco was long gone. Sighing, Goyle dropped his hefty arm and watched Draco wander off in a hurry. "Dammit," he spoke to himself, defeated, watching Malfoy's slender figure quickly subside. And as Draco Malfoy went off on his own way, Goyle watched worried until he could no longer make out Malfoy's shadow at all.

* * *

The sky was just beginning to turn orange. It was fading in such a way that made it seem as if the world around was desperate, ready to end with a beautiful bang. As the day hung on for as long as it possibly could, Draco Malfoy was moving with fast feet. His hands plunged into the depths of his pockets, he was, quite honestly, at very much of a loss. His anticipation to go see Hermione Granger was, quite frankly, a mystery to even him. Nonetheless, he was still anxious to meet with her. And for some reason, it seemed as if even the short walk was a bit prolonged. Perhaps it was only his curiosity and, decisively, he told himself that his excitement was simply only just that. Still, that did not shorten the pace in his leap-like steps.

Nippy, the wind hit his face like a spray of pins and needles. With each prick, he winced ever so slightly. Still, he didn't bother to fix his awful exterior. He wasn't really thinking about such a thing, however, couldn't possibly take up the time to even consider it. There was too much going on in his buzzing mind to worry about such nonsense and, funnily enough, Draco considered this lack of concern as quite a character flaw. Once upon a time, Draco Malfoy cared greatly about his appearance. Back in those days, he would never have stood for even the slightest blemish on his flesh. He would have never allowed his hair to have become to exceedingly greasy. But now? Now was different. Now was a different time and, perhaps, a significantly different Draco. And who was this new being? This new person, who couldn't give a damn whether or not his face looked strange or awkward, was still quite foreign to him. Draco Malfoy had almost not a clue as to who he was. But one thing was for certain: there wasn't much of a chance to going back. But whether or not he was actually able to convert back to his old ways, Draco was helpless to such a decision. And, absolutely, he'd come to terms with that much.

This new Draco, he was heading towards the clearing in the middle of the forest he'd visited on often occasions in solitude. This new Draco, he was ignoring the ugliness that had taken over his once flawless face. He didn't care about looks and he didn't care that his mouth tasted of nothing but iron. The flimsy lifeless strand that was a piece of his blond hair fell in front of his sweaty forehead and he knew he probably reeked. He was making his way on foot, his destination now in full sight. And none of that superficial nonsense could bother him, especially not then, when he was sure he saw her sitting there. Her slim shadow on the forest floor, she'd pitched her back against a rather fat tree stump. Her wand was out held and, in front of her face, she had been waving her wand around in small little circles. Wordlessly, she'd hexed up bright white little flashes of what looked like tiny fireworks. Her her magical delusion, she did not notice Draco as he pushed his way through he trees, sniffling the runny snot that clogged his broken nose.

But Malfoy didn't say a word, and perhaps it was due to the soreness that was plaguing his jaw. Nonetheless, Hermione finally glanced up, a smile on her rather pale face. "Well," she said with a beam that was truly a beautiful one, "that was actually very fast."

"I was in the neighborhood," Draco lied for the second time. But Hermione only patted the spot on the forest floor next to her, permitting the tiny fireworks to fade in the space of air in front of her. Malfoy only hesitated for a moment. Then, floppily, he slunk to the ground, sliding down the thick tree trunk with a large sigh of his own. He said with a bit of sarcasm that he couldn't quite help, "how was your lunch with Potter and Weasley?"

Hermione raised a brow. "Fine," she said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. She swallowed, not informing him that it was actually not at all becoming to hold a grudge. Instead, she looked back at his face, tilting her head to get a better view of it in the light of the protruding moon. She was sweet as she neared him, her expression melting into that of a merely curious one. Her eyes sparkled with absolute wonder and her mouth only slightly parted. Then, over, when she'd gotten a full view of it, she reeled backwards, her hair flying slightly about her appalled face. However, she neared closer towards him again, aggressively inquisitive. Her hands flew out and she took a strong hold of his chin. "What the _hell_?" she asked in a blunt tone, "Malfoy, what the hell?"

But Malfoy only winced. He didn't draw his face back, but he lifted his own hands that shook with the soreness of it. Her reaction was forcing him to actually consider his appearance. "Ah," he yelped slightly in a hoarse way. "A-A wee bit sore, actually!" he pleaded.

Hermione's face fell. Her horrified expression melted and she looked at him only with pity. "Sorry," she said, and she whisked her hands off of Malfoy's face instantly. "Sorry." But Malfoy didn't say a single word. Instead, he dropped his eyes, continued to stare at the ground. But Hermione was not about to let the subject drop. She looked at him with sorrow, her voice a slight whisper. "Draco, what happened?"

"Goyle and I made up." Malfoy offered.

And Hermione's shoulders were the next to fall. She shook her head, but then regained herself, still managing to feel an immense amount of pity towards Draco, nonetheless. She lifted her hands again but before touching his face she asked with care, "may I?" and Malfoy only nodded, looking up from the ground. Hermione leaned forward and Draco Malfoy watched with completely quiet interest. His heart beat faster in his chest, but he remained still as Hermione's fingers took ahold of his jaw. This time, her grip was soft and gentle; the feel of her fingers made him warmer. And curiously she ran her hand over the deep scrape in his jaw, ran them up to his broken nose and then found his black and blue eye. She seemed captivated only in the sweet scrutiny of Draco's face. But Draco was only watching Hermione watch him, a two way exchange that was unnoticed by each of them.

Still caught up in her examination, Hermione's soft fingers merely trailed up towards Malfoy's forehead and she brushed her hand across his sweaty forehead, though she didn't make a face at his perspiring stature. Instead, she slipped her hands into in white blond hair, following the long cut that traveled up into his scalp with her hand. Her fingers were like that of a musician's, only graceful with her contact. And when she reached the end of the scrape, she stopped, averting her eyes into Draco's, who remained completely dumbstruck, his eyes wide and curious. Hermione inhaled, nodded slowly, but kept her hand put on the side of his head. She swallowed, breathing out finally. "I can fix this," she said convincingly over the whisper of the mellow wind.

Malfoy watched her closely, informed her quietly, "they'll scars."

However, Hermione reached down next to her, pulled her up skinny wand from the floor and pushed Draco's sweaty hair behind his ear. "Trust me," she said and then, calmly, she instructed, "hold still. _Episkey." _In a crack, Malfoy could hear the pop of his nose shift back into place. He jolted up, blinking slightly, and then he slightly adjusted his face. Hermione didn't smile, but she remained looking sincerely concerned for Draco. "Okay," she said, "now lie down."

"Lie down?" Malfoy asked, but Hermione only nodded. She took off her dull pink jacket and bundled it up in a slight ball. Hesitant, Malfoy obliged, positioning his head on Hermione's balled up jacket as if it were a pillow. "Good," she said, and she advanced towards him on her knees. She lifted her wand, hovering it over his face. "_Vulnera Sanentur,"_ she whispered soothingly, and then finally scooted back. She breathed out, sat down on her shins, and placed her hands in her lap. "There," she said, meekly.

Malfoy didn't move. Instead, he reached his hand up to his face, touched his smooth skin curiously. He said in a slight daze, "when you talked to me earlier this afternoon, I wasn't expecting that I'd be attending a doctor's appointment."

Hermione watched Draco examine his face, now almost just as flawless as before. The dried blood was still present around his eye, which still was bruised. However, she'd made very much of an improvement. She did not smile. Instead, she ran her hand through her hair, looking tired. "When I talked to you earlier this afternoon," she said, quoting him, "I wasn't expecting you to look completely unrecognizable."

Draco lifted his heavy head. "You try making up with Gregory Goyle and come out of it looking completely flawless." Huffing, he slammed his head back down on the ground, looking just as tired as Hermione herself. "Utterly impossible," he murmured to himself begrudgingly.

Shifting slightly, Hermione chewed her bottom lip. She pushed her own hair behind her ear and said defeated, "beyond the point."

Malfoy scrunched up his face. "Whatever," he breathed out. He couldn't help but grow a little bit frustrated. It was undoubtable that he'd been grateful for the cleaning act she'd done with his front, but nonetheless, Hermione Granger did have her own significant way of getting to him. But despite being uncanny, he squinted in her direction, still wiping delicately at the dried blood that remained on his pale face. The soreness was, in fact, still ever so present. "Why did you want to meet me here, anyways?"

Hermione flushed. He seemed to have caught her by surprise. However, she shook her head, looked up at the sky and said whimsically, "I didn't get the chance to help you out yesterday morning. I was concerned, that's all."

"Ah, well... thank you, Granger," Draco responded, feeling slightly guilty for snapping. However, Hermione laid back, still far away from him on the forest floor. She tossed her arms out, very much like a spilt pile of milk.

It was Hermoine's turn to bitterly say, "whatever."

The two sat without a single word for a long moment, the silence wearing on them rather heavily. On the ground Hermione's brunette hair was sprawled out, loose in its own curly way about her head. And Malfoy's white blond hair was sprawled out behind him, having not moved since he'd brought himself to the ground in the first place. Neither of the two quite fancied the silence, but their pride seemed to consume the both of them. Neither Hermione nor Draco could manage to buck up enough courage to say something suitable. Still, Draco's head buzzed. He considered an entire book of things to say, but none of them seemed to appear fitting. Nonetheless, he opened his mouth, looked hypnotized at the stars and said flatly, "Why are you helping me?"

This caught Hermione. Having been inspecting the stars as well, she didn't gaze elsewhere. Instead, she answered truthfully with the same bluntness as she'd received, "perhaps I believe in the idea of redemption. You may not realize it yet, Malfoy, but I see that something is different about you. You're not that seventeen year old boy anymore. You're just not."

Malfoy watched the dark sky, hadn't really noticed the evening shift completely to blackness at all now that he'd considered it. But either way, he responded, "how do you know that?"

"The radio helped," Hermione suggested.

But Draco ignored Hermione. Instead he asked out loud, "so if I'm not that same seventeen year old kid, then who am I?" However, he was not inquisitive in his question. On the other hand, he seemed to ask her in a demanding voice, as if angry that she'd come to assume such an idea about him.

Hermione's attention shifted. She turned her head towards Malfoy and sat up, almost challenging him. Malfoy did the same, picking himself up slightly and watching her with a slightly angry gaze. "You're a twenty-two year old man. You are not your father and you are not your aunt. You are miserable because you can't handle to think about those sort of things and I actually consider that to be a good thing-- yes, a good thing, Draco Malfoy. If you were going to go on living and act completely normal, then you'd have something to worry about. You'd have been the same exact person that you were five years ago. In a way, you being miserable is probably idealistic."

Draco huffed. "Tell that to my therapist," he snorted ungratefully.

Hermione's mouth twitched up into a slight smile. "Ah," she said, flopping back down, "you'll figure it out." And with that, she finally kept her mouth shut, feeling slightly superior knowing that Draco Malfoy was, for once, at a loss for words.

* * *

**Vonne: **TWO MORE CHAPTERS LEFT! Then I'm moving on to the second part. You can definitely expect Hermione and Draco to begin a relationship. Perhaps even next chapter? :)


	29. For Your Consideration

**Vonne:** Okay, I might have not made it clear last chapter and that's totally my fault-- this is the second to last chapter of THIS story, but only of the first part! :) I'm going to make a second part that is just a continuation off of where this one ends (which is the next chapter). The only reason that I'm making this story two parts is that I am uncomfortable with millions of chapters in one story. Ha, it just kind of bothers me, personally. But I am SO glad that you are all so into this! I'm glad that you all like it and guess that part two will have about thirty chapters in it, as well. So, this story as an entirety has a while left! There's no way it could end now... far too much to tie up! :)

Now, there is one more chapter IN THIS PART! :) Please let me know if you're more confused.

**Let's Go Skydiving: **First off, I love your username! :) And second, thanks so much! I'm glad you like the way this is set up- it means a lot to me.

**Doni: **Yeah, he will. HA Draco's a little bit uneasy with the fact that he's got feelings for Hermione Granger, of all people. But he'll get used to it. You still see more of his resistance in this chapter, but he truly does have feelings for her. And that is how this chapter ends. You'll see... hope you enjoy it!

**Thwarted Moony: **Aw thank you! I'm glad you're planning on reading the second part, because that makes me extremely excited to write it! :)

**HardlyThere: **Oh no! I'm sorry I confused you. This is only the second to last chapter of THIS part. There is still a second part coming, so this story as an entirety is far from over. I hope that clears everything up and I'm so glad that you like this story so far!

**Dramione1996: **HA, yes, in their own special way, they've made up. :)

**Isabella120: **Thanks so much! And no, not almost over! :) I hope the explanation at the top clarifies! :)

**Voldyismyfather: **Thank you! :) I hope you like this chapter, as well.

**KishigoandDramioneRULE: **Thank you! I'm so happy that you liked it. I hope you like this chapter as well. I wrote and rewrote it and tried to make it perfect. :)

**Lily18dm: **Aw! Your review made me smile. Actually, it reminded me that I need to update soon. Hopefully you'll get the update notice in your email ASAP. And I'm so glad you liked the way I planned things out. HA, you have no idea how long I tried to think of how I was going to do it. I think it's very important for Draco to have a friend... not just Hermione, who will be more than his friend. But Goyle's important to Draco, considering they practically went through the same thing together.

**Weather Watch: **Thanks! HA, verryyy concerned.

**Anavell: **Thank you! I hope you like this chapter, too. I added something that I think may be long awaited. :)

**Shining Bright Eyes: **Oh, definitely you're getting some hints! :) I think there's a BIG hint in this one! HA!

**Jade2099: **Yes, Draco's a bit nutters, isn't he. But that's exactly the point! :) He's a little bit too unstable. And that's what I'm going to touch up more on in the second part... Draco's sanity. :)

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**Chapter Twenty Nine:**  
**For Your Consideration**

Draco Malfoy awoke with a start. His mouth was dry and his forearm was crusted with the lingering wetness of leftover blood. He lifted his face up from his arm and blinked about the blackness. In the darkened forest, he'd initially considered himself to have been completely alone, left there without having even expect it. Until finally he spotted her. Hermione Granger was still on her back and she might have not moved a muscle if her even weren't closed. Her chest heaved up and down but only in a way that was slow and rhythmic, as if she was one with the wind in the way she inhaled her air. Her curly hair was still sprawled out about her skull, and her hands were thrust out on the open floor, her fingers gracefully curled at the tip.

For a slight moment, Draco considered not moving her. She looked almost purely peaceful, as if waking her up would be nothing but a sin. But the falling rain above him seemed to snap him to his senses. Though only lightly dropping, he decided to roll over, pick up her jacket that he hadn't even realized he'd kept, and tuck it under his arm. Still achingly sore, Draco crawled forward, the palms of his hands pressing low into the forest grounds. Through the fabric of his pants, he could just feel the prick of the twigs below him. But that was not much of an issue. His only focus was the girl in front of him, so ignorant to the miserable weather, so quiet and captivating in her sound sleep.

And what was the point? In reality he could have just let her sleep. It was only a storm and she was only a girl. Wasn't she? This girl, she lie flat on the ground, her mouth open letting out slightly slurred groans with every passing minute. Malfoy fought against the thoughts that now tormented him; she was both beautiful and horrible there in front of him. And yet he still hadn't figured her out entirely. Nearing her, he was certain that his curiosity was merely part of his delusion. He wasn't right, Goyle had even said, he was sick, and Hermione Granger was not the cure, but rather a symptom. Either way, that fact didn't stop him from moving towards her. Each inch forward was a stretch towards something he hated to find himself desiring. And still he maliciously shook his head free of these rancid thoughts. He wasn't himself. Hermione was wrong, maybe he hadn't changed.

In the rush of the mild wind, a soft voice said, "Draco Malfoy, you have not changed a bit. Five years makes not a slight difference. Don't be a child. Don't fool yourself." And the voices were real as day. He could hear the voice of Voldemort, high-pitched and demanding whispering with an almost caring tone in his open ear. The loud squeal said with an amused laugh, "do not fool yourself, Draco. Only I know your soul." And nonetheless, there was nothing he could do to stop it. He ceased his motions, froze within himself, and because he couldn't move forward he curled himself up tight, pressed his sweaty palms over his ears. His eyes burned with tears and he felt the sting of a sharp knife in the pit of his throat. The rain hit his back, hit his head, hit his skull that covered his very brain. And all the while the voice was still close to his ear, so close that he could feel the breath-like blow that might have been only the wind.

Something beat rapidly in his pulse and he couldn't take it. Pettigrew scratched the walls and now all Draco could think about doing was tearing the grass out of the very ground beneath him. And it was undoubtable that it hurt like hell, he could feel the pressure in the core of his very being, rupturing his skeleton, burning his heart. He told himself that it wasn't real; it wasn't real because he was completely crazy. Completely insane and delusional. Now he was curled in a ball, his palms clenched over his eardrums, trying to block out a voice that wasn't even really there to begin with. Draco Malfoy may have not been the same person that he was five years ago but, really, what did that make him now?

Still he unhinged himself, ignored the voice by simply focusing ahead of him. If he'd ignored it, perhaps it would go away, too. He moved forward slowly, each shaking hand forced to literally take hold of the emerald grass below him. He coughed, sniffed, lifted a hazy hand to push the water off of his face. When finally, he reached Hermiones body, he lunged vibrantly for her, the voice in his head almost as loud as audibly possible. The voice was screaming at him now, laughing at Malfoy's confusion. But Malfoy shut his eyes and swallowed hard, pulling his hand out and grabbing Hermione's outstretched forearm almost far too harshly. And at moment the voice stopped, cut off by something abruptly. Perhaps the voice had been choked or, rather, sliced by the throat completely. But either way, Draco Malfoy blinked at the newfound silence, his chest heaving up and down, his fingers almost digging into Hermione's pale skin.

Hermione's eyes shot open. She bolted up off of the ground in an instant, her eyes wide and horrified. She gasped, shocked at the sharp pain that pierced her, and whisked her arm away. However, she did not move and instead stared back at Malfoy with a curious look of her own. She ignored her stinging arm, leaned forward and caught sight of his soaking wet face. "What?" she asked with a quick aggression. "What's going on? Malfoy, what's happened?" She looked as if she were about to hop of on her feet and she made a quick leap towards her wand.

Her eyes scanned the face she'd just healed, now covered in dirt, red from having been pressed up against the knob of his own knees. Malfoy's bruised eye was almost shut from the swelling, though it was obvious that he had been crying. Quickly Hermione's eyes scanned the scene around her and, though it was beautiful, she could tell that she was alone. Still, the nerves in the boy across from her made her almost physically ill. He looked as if he were about to be sick at the very moment, his eyes glazed over and his stance almost havering in the light of being excessively unsteady. "Draco," Hermione asked, this time softening her voice, "what? W-What's wrong?"

But Malfoy was glancing around the clearing on his own now, as if looking for something specific. Then he pressed both of his eyes tightly shut, scrunching his face up. He lifted both of his hands to his head and pressed his sweaty palms against his face. Then, like this, he allowed his hands to once again flop back down, his shoulders low and defeated. Nonetheless, the voice was gone. He knelt in complete silence, filled with only the sound of Hermione's frantic breaths. Once again Hermione broke the silence, her voice nothing more than a simple little whisper. "Draco," she said slowly again, her own hands flat at her side as well, "please. What's the matter?" Malfoy's silence made her uneasy, a bit overly anxious. As she sat on her knees on the forest floor, she watched his face, fearful and horrified. He stood hazily as if he were expecting something. To this, Hermione asked sincerely, "did you have a nightmare? Was that it?" Malfoy's heart was pounding faster and faster with every passing second and to Hermione's question he privately thought to himself: if only.

Anxiously, Draco opened his eyes, let his limbs hang loose. He shook his head, swallowed the same lump that just would not cease its annoying consistency. Everything about him was numb and buzzing. He could have passed out if only he could relax enough to succumb to such actions. But his temples were pounding too severely, his mind was running too fuzzily, and his heart was pumping on nothing but what seemed like battery acid. Hermione's face in front of his, she looked as if she were about to melt into one big puddle. Her expression was so soft and so scared all at once. She was lovely and curious and anxiety ridden. There was nothing she could do but sit; she'd asked all her questions and Draco, he wasn't much help. As a matter of fact, his uselessly uneasy stature was in its own way increasingly sickening.

"Draco," Hermione tried again, though her more sensible brain told her that her pleas were utterly useless, "please. C-Can you hear me?"

Oh yes, Draco Malfoy could hear her fine. In his blank mind he could hear nothing but the voice of Hermione Jean Granger; her eyes opened wide, she was watching him closely. Another lump plagued Draco's dry throat and he swallowed it, trying to calm himself almost too desperately. "Voices," he told her anxiously, his voice raspy as if he'd just run an entire relay. And why he was being so honest with her wasn't even the issue anymore. All Draco could think about was telling her. It wasn't a desire, but an obligation. He needed her to know because he hoped more than anything that she could help him, could fix it like she fixed the mess on his face. The dried blood on his shirt, the very blood that matched the massive amount of it on his face, it stood out vibrantly on his pale face, as well as on his white shirt. In the cold he felt nothing but heat and his head was suffering greatly. Despite himself, despite the illness that seemed to delay any of his usual reactions, he told her, "I-I've b-been hearing voices."

Hermione paused for a moment, considering this. Then, remaining still, she repeated uneasily, "hearing voices?"

But Malfoy was in hysterics. His face was now completely wet, his eyes glazing over with oncoming tears. He didn't care that he was loosing it, loosing it in front of Hermione Granger, even. He'd just wanted it fixed. Why would Goyle and Pansy lead such normal lives? Why couldn't he forgive himself and forget the past? The stinging prickle of the wind once again poked restlessly at his face, turning the tip of his nose red. He could feel a sting of bile boil up in his throat and he wondered why he was growing ill? Could he truly not take much of this any longer or, maybe, was even his body failing him? "And _he's_ in my head. I can hear _him_, too."

"Who?" Hermione asked instantly, this time moving forward. She seemed to sense the nausea that was creeping up on his, seemed almost perfectly prepared for him to fall completely unconscious. "Who are you talking about, Draco?" she asked gently, lifting her hands up as well. She grabbed his shoulders and she held him upright with a gently stern grip.

Malfoy's face twisted slightly and he said out loud with desperation, "Voldemort."

Hermione's face fell. Her mouth dropped slightly, open just minimally. Her hands rose from her shoulders and she stared, captivated, at his face. Then with shivering hands of her own, she pushed the tears away from Malfoy's face, placed her hand on his freezing cold cheek. "Draco," she said softly, "Voldemort's dead. It's not real, okay?" But nonetheless he was shaking, looking around as if he'd expected to hear the Dark Wizard once again at any second. "It's all in your head. Listen, you're not in danger, okay? You're going to be okay, Draco, just please, calm down."

However, Malfoy only seemed to further sway in his spot. He leaned forward and then pushed himself back, the rain getting caught in his hair, plastering it to his face. And Hermione was starting to feel it too, the rain soaking her curly hair and flattening it upon her own chilly skin. Finally, when the two had done nothing but stare at one another, Draco cleared his throat. He blinked once again, as if to try and clear his eyes. And while he only did so unsuccessfully, he glanced around, finally feeling a bit embarrassed. "We," he started slowly, "we should go."

Nodding, Hermione slipped her hand off of Malfoy's cheek, stood up and offered him her hand. Taking it, Draco regained a much more proper stance and nodded a humiliated thanks in her direction. "Ready?" she asked him, looking off into the trees. Whether or not he wanted to walk home alone, Hermione wasn't going to permit him to do anything of the sort. In fact, now more than ever she felt much more of a strong attachment to him. He really was not right and yet, there was something so saddening about him at the same time. She could not shake the feeling of desiring to fix it, make everything alright again. And so now he was hearing voices, voices of the dead, nonetheless. But he was sick and suffering and miserable and Hermione rationalized it, feeling more pity than she'd ever thought possible.

But Malfoy nodded, signifying that he was in fact ready to leave the clearing. So Hermione picked up her pace, meeting him at his side and watching him out of the corner of her eyes. Her mind raced and slowed at the same time. And there he was, walking next to her, hazy and unsteady. She could still see the red tint that he'd held about his eyes, still left over from only moments ago. As he walked he watched his feet and he arms were loose, hanging on two shoulders that had sunk down far too low. He seemed to be lost in thought, too, and all the while Hermione found herself desiring to know of what he was thinking of. But still she managed to contain her curiosity, remaining silent at his side, waiting for a moment as to where talking would suffice.

However, perhaps talking was not the answer to her curiosity. From her pocket Hermione removed her hand and permitted her wrist to carry her fingers towards Malfoy's palm. Then, finally, when her hand met with his, her fingers interlaced around his lightly, squeezing his only once before relaxing within his palm altogether. On impact Draco looked down and then back up at her, a rather confused expression etched on his face. But he did nothing. And in the stillness of the night, Hermione was certain that he'd slightly stopped shaking. "You're going to be okay, Draco," Hermione told him, watching him watch his scuffed shoes. "Okay?"

She stood back away from him, watching him completely. His eyes searched her face, still not believing her. Nonetheless, Hermione was almost lost, by then she'd noticed the anxiety in her stomach and her pounding heart behind her weak skeleton. And perhaps she couldn't help herself, perhaps she'd felt she'd wanted to lean in and embrace him for a long time. But why was that? Was it because she was sick, too? Greatly, Hermione doubted this. She could see that Draco Malfoy was, more than honestly, trying. He was not a killer, and he never had been. He was not the same person that he was at school and even the very thought of it had even physically tormented him. Sure the situation was complex, but Hermione had dealt with worse. Thus she inched forward, as if to end off her sentence with a signature embrace. Lightly she kissed his lips and then drew back, as if she'd instantly snapped out of her curiosity to do so. She slipped her hand out of his, said stupidly, "oh no... oh _shit_, I'm sorry."

Though Malfoy only stared back at her, his gaze was merely temporary. Instead, he stepped slightly forward, felt a strong rush as he put his hands on her face and leaned in, following her as she backed up against the nearest tree trunk, her hands feeling the back of it to steady herself up against the side. She felt his cold hands on her face, but she didn't draw back. Instead she pressed her hands over his freezing ones, being just as soft. The rain above them slipped off the looming leaves of the tree they were under, falling in Hermione's wet hair and clinging on to Draco's dark coat. In the blackness, the stars seemed almost perfect, and the dewy emerald grass just barely seeped through Hermione's shoes and in to her socks. And really she couldn't bring herself away. Her heart was pounding much faster than before, but she'd felt more and more easy as the moments passed on. And then finally Malfoy pulled himself away, looking at her with such sincerity that she thought she could be surely weak in the knees.

Simply in all seriousness, Malfoy said as he looked directly into her eyes, "I need to go back to therapy."

Nodding, Hermione said warmly, "okay," she said breathlessly, "okay, I'll go with you."

And a quick rush built up quickly in Draco Malfoy's frozen chest. Then Malfoy leaned in again, kissing her once again before pulling himself back. "I need to try to stop drinking," he said again, still watching her earnestly.

This time Hermione leaned inwards. She enjoyed feeling warm even while holding onto his cold hands. She kissed him in a signature way and then stopped, leaning back against the tree trunk saying in turn with a slight smile, "that one's a given."

Malfoy stopped, at first looking hurt, but then allowing a smile to fall over his own face, as well. He said pressing his forehead up to hers, "don't patronize me."

And Hermione said back, "whatever."

* * *

Lying on her back, Hermione Granger found herself wondering how it was that she'd actually gotten herself to this point. So far, she'd considered just about every possibility, including the theory that everything, absolutely everything, was far beyond her control. The irrational part of her widely rational brain told her that the night was simply destined to turn out the way it had, that she had no other choice but to inevitably go along with the punches. Stupidly, she told herself on occasion that she could blame the events on the direction of the wind, or the alignment of the stars in the sky. She'd even considered placing the blame on the aroma of the air; perhaps it had been far too freshly scented outside. However, Hermione Jean was far too smart for such nonsense and she knew that fate had nothing to do with the way in which her night played out. Kissing Draco Malfoy was her choice and she found, the more she sat down and considered it, that she wasn't regretful.

So, with her hand outstretched, she felt the fingers that she'd been clinging on to. Malfoy was close enough to see in the fog, but distant enough for Hermione's arm to be completely straightened. She could barely see him through the thick air ahead of her, but she could see that his eyes were wide and opened. His mouth was slightly parted, too, and he seemed to be considering the sky more than anything else in the world. And where did that leave Hermione? Truth be told, she'd considered every ludicrous idea and now she'd had nothing more to consider.

What she'd remembered was minimal, because she hadn't realized how fast everything had taken place. She'd felt a rush and had leaned in, embraced the boy she'd never thought she'd kiss in her lifetime. But then, there he was kissing her back. And then, who was she kidding? It wasn't as if she'd gone a day previously without thinking about Malfoy; it wasn't as if she'd never thought about doing what she'd done, either. So then, why was it that she didn't consider her actions to have let herself down? More precisely, she seemed to have redeemed herself, though from what she hadn't truly figured out as of yet. Though, nonetheless, she was still rather content with herself, sitting there with her hand in his.

But perhaps it should have scared her, but then again... maybe not.

Draco Malfoy, lying there next to her, he looked like an angel. His white-blond hair was spread about his pale face and his white skin seemed almost transparent. But the undoubtable tragedy that always seemed to emulate from him was still ever so present. The dark bags around his face circled his gray eyes and even with a slight smile, he seemed to be consumed by a grimace. "So," she asked, watching him carefully, "where does this leave us?"

"Hm?" Malfoy blinked, rather wiped out of his thought-filled daydreaming. His head clearly turned and he focused his eyes back on Hermione, who had been looking at Malfoy perhaps much longer than even she had anticipated.

Hermione fixed herself upon the wet floor below her. Funnily enough, Draco was the one who had been so set on leaving the forest, but then, he'd been the one to sit back down again. Or, at least she'd thought he'd been the one to physically suggest upon it. With their hands set back and forth on one another, it wasn't exactly easy to tell; however, either way, still embracing they'd managed to settled themselves back upon the grass, having left the thick tree trunk entirely. Of course, their natural location wasn't really the point of Hermione's initial question. She'd been more concerned about their mental positions and so, to clarify, she repeated out loud, "where does this leave us, then?"

Malfoy's pale face reddened. He contemplated Hermione's inquiry and then, looking a bit more than simply lost, he turned back to her with nothing. "I dunno," he said honestly, looking a tad frustrated with his own answer. Much to her own dismay, Hermione felt her chest dropping along with the expression that had been etched on her face. Though what did she expect? She was questioning a boy who was too far gone to consider such circumstances; he was miserable and forlorn and a little bit crazy. She thought back to only an hour ago: he'd been hearing _voices_, for crying out loud.

Consequently, her face matched the color on Draco's. "Ah," she said back.

Instantly Malfoy seemed to catch on to Hermione's hint of disappointment. "No," he said quickly, trying not to stutter, "no, that's... not what. I didn't mean..." With his free hand, Draco lifted his sweaty palm and ran it across his face. When his hand reached the endpoint of his chin, he looked back at her, hoping to successfully start again. "Where are we now?" he asked shakily. However, his silence seemed to sustain his well anticipated answer. Sighing out, Malfoy seemed frustrated with himself when he responded morosely, "I... I don't know."

Swiftly Hermione pulled her hand out from Draco's. She pulled herself back up off of the floor, disillusioned. Still, she made for her jacket and pulled it over each arm restlessly. "Well, then," she said as she stood back up, though struggled to do so, "I'll be seeing you, Draco Malfoy."

"What!" Malfoy's voice was hoarse and raspy. Still plastered to the ground, it seemed to take a long while for Hermione's determination to actually hit him. Still, he lunged forward, stumbling upwards like a baby deer, trying to walk for the first time. His blond hair flopped lifelessly in front of his face, his black tie looked almost pathetic around his white button-up shirt. "Hey!" he called towards her as she bent low to pick up her discarded shoes, "hey, wait!"

Hermione's eyes wiped up towards him like a pair of deep brown daggers. "What?" she asked harshly.

Malfoy's eyes wandered around quickly. He seemed to be struggling with whatever it was he was trying to say and still Hermione didn't have it in her to move an inch away from him. His arms were stiff at his sides and he looked as if he truly had nothing to give. He opened his mouth and then, as if he'd thought better of it, shut it. Then, breathlessly, he tried again. "You don't want to be with me," he told her finally.

But Hermione was less than impressed. She straightened herself out and said in a tone that was just as bitter as her previously harsh statement, "why not?"

Although Malfoy kept hold on to his sad tone. "Because," he said defeatedly, "... you even said it yourself. I'd be bringing someone down along with me... I'd be bringing _you_ along with me."

Posture slightly softening, Hermione's shoulders sunk. Nonetheless, she didn't drop the frustration that so heavily filled her body. However, it was her turn to stutter. Restless in her determination to contradict Draco's theory, Hermione said back in an unconvincing response, "t-that... t-that w-was different then. That was-- completely different." Neither of the two moved until finally Hermione raised her fingers to rub her throbbing temples. Why did everything have to be so difficult? Only a short while ago, on the floor in the forest, she'd have expected nothing to have been more simple. Perhaps she should have listened to herself before hand. Perhaps she should have blamed the night completely on fate. But Hermione was determined to prove her point. Looking at Draco stilly, she said again, "you're not going to bring me down with you. I'm the one who is choosing to do this with you, Draco. What? You don't think I can handle myself?"

Once again, Malfoy blinked jumpily. "No!" he said quickly, "no, that's not it, either." Sighing, he continued, "I'm twenty-two years old... five years ago, I couldn't stand you."

Finally, Hermione's posture softened. A slight smile crossed her face and she then took a whole new look at Malfoy's misery. He didn't catch on to Hermione's amusement and still looked down at the grass, ignorant. Hermione extended her arm and grabbed hold of Draco's shoulder. When he looked up, he looked more glum than ever. "I'm twenty-two years old," she said quietly, "and five years ago I couldn't stand you or your entire _family." _Giggling, she tilted her head a bit farther, attempting at cheering Draco up completely. "I hexed a scar across the side of your father's head."

Instantly Malfoy's facial expression changed. He blinked up at her, utterly dumbstruck. Like a fascinated child, he responded in a whisper, "_you_ did that?" Biting her lip, Hermione nodded briskly as if she'd done something especially restricted. "Out of all the marks he'd garnered over the past couple years, that one _still _baffles him."

"My point is," Hermione said, pulling Draco's hair back away from his eyes, "is that times change. Things change. I don't hate your family. I don't hate you... I told you before: I'm done with hating. There's far too much for that going on in this world. So," she added in a tone a bit lighter. She looked around, slightly embarrassed, but still dying to know, "... where does this leave us?"

Hermione looked back at Draco Malfoy, whose face drained of color. He looked uneasy, but there was no sure way for her to know what it was he was thinking. Still Hermione waited, watching him fret mentally to himself. Then finally, when he looked back up at her, he said, "where ever you want us to be." And then Hermione threw herself at him, smiling broadly and wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. Malfoy wrapped his arms around her as well, holding her much more tightly than she'd expected.

And as they stood there with their arms around each other, Hermione Granger was unsure if she'd ever felt as happy in her life.

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**Vonne: **REVIEW! :)


	30. Expecting Nothing

**Vonne:** First off, let me say that I am so sorry that this final chapter (of this part) took so long for me to upload. It's winding down towards the end of everything for me and I've had little to no time to get anything done. That being said, I'm glad that I can finally have this chapter up and running now and that the first chapter to the second part will more than likely be updated in a matter of days, perhaps in a matter of even 48 hours. Anyway, once again to make this clear, this story is NOT over. There are numerous things still left unaddressed that I will be touching up on in the second part, including that of Draco's sanity; his relationship with Hermione, Pansy, Goyle, and his father; his relationship with the Wizarding World; therapy...

And now to get back to all of you. Thanks so much for your following in this story and I sincerely hope that you'll stick with it in the second part! Once again, I appreciate it more than you know and I'm so glad to hear from you after every update, especially those who do so on a consistent time scale. Thank you, thank you. I hope that you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed penning it down for all of you.

**Lily18dm: **Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you liked it up until the very end! I hope that you enjoy the final chapter (of this part) and I hope to hear from you during the second part!

**Dramione1996: **Thank you for the review! Though short, I always love hearing from you! :)

**WeatherWatch: **HA, the word 'baffle' is truly a lovely word. I'll be sure to use it once again just for your sake. :)

**Shining Bright Eyes: **Oh no! Draco's very far from being out of any woods! Of course, that is why I chose to write a second part of this, just to finish everything up properly. I'm so glad that you're enjoying this and that you plan to come back for the second part! See you there!

**Thwarted Moony: **Thank you so much! HA, I am so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. I felt that it was, of course, about time! Thank you for all your reviews- I enjoy reading them. :)

**Doni: **Thank you! :) I'm glad that you liked the chapter and I hope that it wasn't too, too sad for you. This one is kind of more relaxing, for it will lead into the second part! Anyway, thank you so much for all your reivews. Loved them! :)

**Isabella120: **HA! Well, thank you! I'm glad you would not want to have me stop there. :) I am so glad that you're enjoying this story so much. I hope you'll be here for the second part, which I am working on RIGHT now.

**Anavell: **HA, yes, it was always coming, just took a while. :)

**Jade2099: **Aw, thank you! I'm glad that you liked the last chapter and I hope that you enjoy this concluding one just as much! Ha, and yes, it will probably always be bittersweet with Draco and Hermione. I've never pictured them to have an overly 'love-y' relationship. They've got to be always going back and forth while being fond of one another at the same time. I don't know, it just seems to fit the two much better in that sense, huh? :)

* * *

**Chapter Thirty:  
Expecting Nothing**

It was snowing the very first day of winter and Draco Malfoy, who had been at the window for quite some time, found the weather to be rather odd. Of course, he was solely alone in his consideration (for it was winter, after all) however, there was something draining about snow that Draco himself had never noticed before until that very moment. As each white flake dropped down to grace the earth floor with its untainted purity Malfoy thought that perhaps a more suitable weather choice would have been sunshine, for it was the first time in a span of five years that he'd found himself feeling a bit more optimistic.

Nonetheless, his feelings of warmth was a rather foreign feeling to him in particular. He'd never been so content with his days and, furthermore, found his comfort making him a tad bit anxiety prone. Perhaps his happiness was only a limited experience, soon to be diminished by the fate he'd so come to associate himself with. Currently, he'd taken to expecting the worst and, when no such tragedy come to him, he'd figured that it was only a matter of time. After all, he'd never gone more than a couple of hours without something miserable ruining his day and this entire week he'd had, it all seemed too good to be true. Radio in hand, he contemplated giving Hermione a call.

A figure however, tall and slender and beautiful even in shadow, appeared cast on the wall opposite him, stifling away his urges. In the silence of his staring, the presence of his mother quickly invaded his previous peace. She cleared her throat and even the sound of her nerves was a falsely soothing one. She said timidly, "chilly weather we're having, isn't it?" and waited for a response. However, Draco only pushed away the radio, stuffing it underneath himself rather hastily. Then, on impact, he turned around, glanced mildly over his shoulder, and returned his mother's soft expression with an almost identical one. He saw that she was bundled up for the temperature, as if ready to venture outdoors momentarily. Her long blonde hair was up in a tight bun and she wore an elegant and thick white coat over her shoulders.

"It's winter," Draco informed her, but in a quiet tone of voice that was not at all demeaning. In fact, for pointing out something so insanely obvious he felt rather stupid for speaking at all. Though Narcissa seemed not to take notice; she instead nodded simply, fixed her hands together under the white fur at the end of her coat sleeves, and smiled back. The smile was, after all, a brave thing to do; she hadn't heard much of her son for quite some time and held all the right in the world to be angry with him. Draco chose to appreciate her choice to not be anything of the sort. In fact, he rather admired her for her timidness, though he wasn't quite sure he'd deserved it. Nerved by his mother's stillness, Malfoy could clearly make out the sadness behind her seemingly cold eyes. He turned back to the window, sighed simply, and scooted over to make room for her at the window sill.

The sound of his mother's heels echoed against the broad room. However, she seemed uplifted by Draco's welcome and she wasted no time in bringing herself to him. When she finally made it, she positioned herself properly next to him, watching nothing but his pale profile. She sat statuesque, watching the side of her son as he mulled the view through the window inquisitively. Then, uneasily, she lifted out a hand and brushed back the fallen strands of his blond hair, positioning them sweetly behind his ear. Ignoring the fact that her son did not react in the slightest, she managed a smile on her own. "You must be freezing," she said silently, "Look at you mother all bundled up and here you are without any socks on." She seemed utterly freezing just by the look at him seated there, merely in his night clothes, and she tilted her head, waiting for a response.

But, still exteriorly pallor, all she could get out of Draco was simply, "'M fine."

"Nonsense," his mother beamed, her eyes slightly wet for reasons unknown to Draco entirely. "Besides, I bought this for you the other day, when you were... out." Instantly Malfoy knew what she was talking to and he felt a rush of embarrassment flood over him. And why was it that at twenty-two years old Draco Malfoy was still feeling awful about stepping out of his parent's home for two day's time? Perhaps it was the notion that he'd still lived in the Manor that had been bother him. Either way, he sat in silence as his mother pulled out a long olive green scarf from behind her back. She flattened it on her lap and ran her fingers across it before looking back up at him, saying characteristically, "it was very pricey but... only the best for my son." Then, without waiting for any response, she moved herself towards Draco and looped the thing around his shoulders, bundling it up around his neck and resting it finally at his front. Finally, when she'd finished winding the piece around him, she leaned back slightly, and said, "that should help with the weather, then."

The smile she plastered on her pale face was more than obviously a false one. But the Malfoy's were, of course, brilliant actors. Still, watching his mother so desperate for a conversation, Malfoy glanced down at the scarf, saying meekly, "thanks, Mum." Narcissa's face lit up, having relished in the fact that she'd considered the chance that Malfoy had fallen in love with the thing. And, quite honestly, he did like the scarf. Still, for the life of him, he couldn't manage to express the signifiant amount of gratitude he knew his mother deserved. No matter how hard he tried, all that he could offer her was a simple little smile.

"You're very welcome," Narcissa beamed, turning back to the weather. In silence, Draco saw out of the corner of his eye that his mother's smile had started to fade. As quickly as it had come, it seemed almost unable to stay fully put there. Then, uneasily, he turned back to his delirium. Watching the snow hit the ground that spread out across his parent's large lawn had kept his attention for quite some time. Still, that hadn't kept his mother from trying to keep him focus on the other issues at hand. She shifted, fiddling with her slender hands in her lap, and said rather casually, "your father says you were considering returning back to therapy?" Stone-like, Malfoy swallowed. He wasn't in the mood to have such a conversation, but still, he nodded in response to her, feeling a bit more humiliated than he'd ever have wished to. Narcissa, on the other hand, seemed more than uplifted at her son's answer. Her smile returned once again, lighting up her otherwise morose visage.

She dropped the act of analyzing the window entirely and turned to face her son completely, despite the fact that he'd refused to do so himself. Her face reddened with the thrill of it all and yet she seemed to remain still. Hiding her excitement, she calmed herself, allowing her face to regain its natural white color. Then, glancing back over at her son, she said meekly, "I really do think that returning will come of some good use to you, Draco. I think that having someone to talk to is always a good thing."

Malfoy considered this. Hermione was someone he could talk to.

"And, besides," Narcissa continued, beyond joyful, "I think even others can learn from hearing from you, in return. You are so... brilliant, Draco. And you always have been. I've always seen that in you." Pensive, Draco colored himself completely mortified. For one thing, he mother was absolutely incorrect; he, Draco Malfoy, was not at all anything close to brilliant. If he had been, then why was it that he was still stuck in his five year rut? Goyle and Pansy had seemed to turn out okay. Settling on his conclusion of uselessness, he took to taking his mother's compliments with only a grain of salt. Anyway, she was his mother; she had to say things like that.

"So," Draco asked, his voice hoarse and a little rocky, "you think it is a good idea, then?"

Narcissa moved herself forwards once again. Her warm fingers trailed the surface of his bruised eye and she seemed sincerely pained for him. Then, nodding slowly, she said in a whisper, "I think that it is only an option. No one is forcing you to do anything, Draco, remember that. Your father and I want you to go only if you wish to go as well." Draco spotted it head on-- another lie, right there in front of him. Of course, he'd suspected that his mother knew almost nothing of her false statement, even after she'd stated it. But Draco had been too clever not to notice. It was the comment she'd made about his father and his wishes. Of course he'd wanted Draco to return to the therapist's office, whether or not he'd considered such a thing himself. Then again, Lucius Malfoy was rather known for his intelligence; perhaps his father did have a point after all.

And what was this about hearing voices, as well? Sane people should not have been hearing anything of the sort? Even Hermione had seemed taken aback when he'd told her. Uneasy, he considered having to tell a therapist. As a wild chill ran up his spine, Draco Malfoy was sure that he wasn't ready to hear from a professional that there was something far worse going on with him than he'd expected. Was denial the first step? Or was it merely refusal to start denying anything in the first place?

His mother's open inquiry stood before him like an unwanted presence and, even though she hadn't truly _asked _him anything, he knew that she was waiting for a response. Did he want this, too? The easy answer was no, however, he knew that he needed it. And how could he manage to crush his mother right then? She'd stared at him then, filled with false hope. The pair of her beautiful eyes seemed almost forlorn with the onset of tears. She was almost more fragile than ever and as she watched him carefully, he imagined her tiptoeing across a sheet of thin ice. Shaking his head, telling her 'no', that would only send her falling though his hypothetical iceland. But even saving her, he'd have been merely a liar, rather than anyone heroic. Nonetheless, he chose to lie, for that was something he'd always been wonderful at. So, he nodded, watching his mother's face melt into an expression of childish relief.

"Oh, thank you, Draco," she said, sinking into him, pressing hands at his chin. "I know you will be fine. The future has always been a bright one for you..." With that, Narcissa took to her son's head of light hair, pushing it out of his face as if only to distract herself. Then she smiled, straightening herself up stiffly and wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "You look so handsome," she told him as she pulled herself up and away from the ledge of the window, patting the cushion she'd been seated on back to its normally flat position. But Draco didn't bother truly accepting his mother's false sense of flattery. Instead, he looked back down at the scarf, and then timidly back at her. He was in his twenties and he still felt like a child. "Your father and I are going to run some errands," she informed him once she'd gathered herself together, "you can come along if you'd like."

The look on her face was set; as if she'd expected him to gather himself together and join them at once. But this time Draco had no choice but to refuse. He shook his head solemnly, feeling slightly at fault as his mother's face sunk low once again. "Oh," she said carefully, looking only a bit shocked, "oh, okay. No issue." She stiffened, once again, smiling that same smile that Draco knew was only an actress'. "You're probably right anyway; it's freezing out!" She approached him slowly once again, taking the crown of his head in her hands. Then she bent low, kissing his skull before drawing back for the final time that afternoon. With that, she turned around and made way to the door, leaving her son, the room, and the view of the weather behind her conclusively.

With that, Draco leaned himself back against the wall, his knees out before him in a rather crooked manner. He took to once again watching the snow fall from the sky. It hit the bottom of his parent's backyard slowly. To himself he wondered how it was exactly that he'd gotten himself to where he'd been. Five years ago, he'd have never have imagined himself still residing with his parents, never would have imagined himself singe, either, to be more accurate. And, more precisely, he'd have never have imagined that Hermione Granger would have played such an important role in his life. Now he'd only come to expect nothing but the unexpected, something he'd should have adapted to quite some time ago. Nonetheless, he still felt anxious. He could sense something unsettling in the near future, knew by nothing by experience.

The little radio underneath him gave way and he let it breathe once again, analyzing it with a lifted brow. Was finding the silly Muggle toy merely a coincidence or was Hermione destined to be in his life since the beginning? Flushed, he'd wished he hadn't made such an embarrassment of himself throughout the previous years. Perhaps things would have turned out a bit differently if only he'd have taken a different route...

"You up?" Came Hermione's voice, rather less excitable than Draco would have originally imagined. And, besides, what sort of question was that, anyways? Of course he'd been up? It was twelve o'clock noon. He'd been up for at least six hours and Hermione herself sounded like she'd just come to.

"It's lunch time," Draco said back quickly, watching the figure of both his parents finally exiting the house. They walked down the path away from the manor arm in arm, so put together even in the chilliest of weather. "I've been up for hours."

Hermione, though tired and sulky, laughed. "Oh, really?" she said testily, "doing what?"

Draco remained confused. He looked back at the radio and then out the window. "Watching the snow, actually," he said in truth.

Back in her own room, Hermione suppressed a smile. Unsure as to why she'd had to do so, she shifted herself underneath her bed sheets, finally glancing out the window for herself. "It's lovely, isn't it? The snow?" For a moment, she scrutinized the entire backyard, completely white under the icy blanket of the winter weather. "Besides," she said, "its a nice change from just the rain."

Malfoy shrugged his shoulders, leaned back his head and sighed out restlessly. His long legs stuck out straight before him and his arms hung heavily at his side. Quite frankly, he'd resumbled something of a discarded rag doll. Still, he lifted a free hand, blinked and then turned back to the radio with a curious expression on his face. "Hermione," he said dully, "what are you doing trying to entice me with small talk?"

Hermione blinked baffled, this time on her own. "Oh, well," she said uneasily, "pardon me. I've just woken up." A bit more hastily, she said back, "it's far too late in the day to come up with anything better, anyways."

Sighing, Malfoy responded with, "I've had quite enough small talk for this afternoon, I can assure you." His eyes followed the final vision of his mother and father, just barely two little dots in the distance. They were still linked on to one another, stiff and straight and well-put. The thought of their statue-like beings slightly nerved Draco for reasons rather unbeknownst to him in the first place. They'd always behaved so perfectly. Why was it that he was only just beginning to be bothered by the act of it?

"Right," Hermione huffed, trying to mask her annoyance. Still, she found it more easy to be gentle with Draco, for she was far too happy with him to allow herself to fall under ill pretenses, anyway. "No small talk," she muttered continuously, "check."

Banging his head back against the wall behind him, Malfoy instantly regretting snapping at her. He wasn't really in the best mood, despite having had a wonderful past couple of days. Perhaps he'd simply needed to drop his whole idea of suspicion. Maybe there was nothing horrible waiting for him in the mist. Maybe, for once, he could start living a considerably happy existence. "Sorry," he recoiled, biting his lip, but he paid no attention to Hermione as she whisked his apology away like she'd not noticed it.

"Don't be," she said ruthlessly. Then, vibrantly, she asked out loud, "want to get a better look at the snow?" Malfoy considered this. From where he'd been sitting, he could see the snow perfectly fine-- however, he knew that his seat was not what Hermione really had in mind. So shifting himself, he glanced down at his mother's new scarf, given to him at rather quite an accurate time. Still, Hermione was talking in a hinting tone, slowly pronouncing every one of her words as if she were telling him a secret. "I hear," she said quietly, "that there's a little clearing out in the woods someplace that would be brilliant for such scrutiny."

And she could not have been more close to the truth. Malfoy readjusted his olive green scarf and his eyes darted around for a pair of socks. "Is that so?" Draco teased, pretending to have just heard about the clearing for the first time in his entire life, "well I think I might just have to go check this spot out, then."

Laughing, Hermione asked conclusively, "met you there in ten?"

But Malfoy had glanced back in to the kitchen, decided that perhaps the chilly weather could only be counteracted with a nice thermos of tea. He said, watching the hallway curiously, "give me twenty."

* * *

Hermione's tiny feet made only slight imprints in the white winter snow. Wrapped up like a mummy, she'd prepared herself for chilly weather, but nothing of this sort. Already it was the first day of winter and she could hardly feel the tips of her toes through her thick boots. As she walked through the high risen snow, she considered what she'd made of her life as of the previous day. Since then, she'd come to expect nothing but the impossible. She'd gone far further from only expecting the unexpected at this point. Such expectations were, of course, rather insane-- for her meetings with one Draco Malfoy were far more that simply unexpected. However, that wasn't to say that she wasn't enjoying herself. Making her way closer to the clearing, in fact, she found that she'd been rather anxiously anticipating her catching-up with him. And, despite the nippiness outside, inside her chest was rather warm.

Besides, she could see through the white tipped trees that Draco Malfoy had come far earlier than he'd expected himself to have arrived. Watching him from afar, she could just barely make out the rising steam of hot tea and a smile was instantly etched on her face. Feeling slightly stupid, she laughed to herself; the end of her nose instantly lighting up a bright shade of red to counteract the rest of her ghostly pale face. "Wow," she said calling out to him over the rush of the winter wind, "I really should just stop expecting anything at all!"

Malfoy looked up, watching the figure of Hermione advance slowly towards him. He was seated on the ground, rearranging the mugs he'd placed out on the big blanket He was wearing a thick jacket and a green scarf, and his hands were pink without gloves. Over his head of blond hair, he'd pulled down a newsboy hat low over himself. But she seemed more focused on something else. Clearly, her eyes were set on the tea cups and on the place he'd set out for her. But truly he hadn't thought much of it. Still, he'd noticed her at once and found that he was quite fond of the lovely smile on her face. "Oh?" he asked, watching her stand up before him, scanning the scene he'd set out vibrantly, "you were expecting something different?"

"Surely," she said, amused, "I wasn't expecting an entire picnic."

"Well," Draco shrugged, feeling slightly pleased with himself for the first time in a long time, "you should start expecting the unexpected, Granger."

But Hermione shook her head. As she did so, her long brunette hair flew out marvelously behind her, caught up in the snowy air. "No," she said, taking her seat. Fixating herself on top of the large blanket, she continued, "I won't do that at all. Anyway, I've decided to stop expecting anything. Expectations are overrated. Besides, its far better to just go along with the punches." Then, freely, Hermione shrugged. She clearly exaggerated her point by tossing her arms up slightly and breathing out, "take each day in strides."

Malfoy watched her. She looked so content in the snow, even with her face so contorted against it. Her long hair was out behind her, taken up by the rush of the air. Her eyes were slightly watered by the chilliness of it all. "I've been expecting," he said rather morosely, "that my days of joy are rather limited."

Hermione's face fell. Scolding him, she retracted from grabbing her tea. She narrowed her eyes and said, "don't think that way."

Lifting his brow, Draco decided to challenge her. He leaned forward and picked up his own tea, blowing on it so that it would not burn him. Then, over the edge of his cup, he asked, "and why shouldn't I?"

"Because!" Hermione said, sighing, "that is a horrible way to live."

"Really?" Malfoy asked, sarcastically.

Hermione leaned back. With her hands she smoothed away the free bits of her hair and nodded. Very sternly, she finished, "yes, really," and watched him closely. Over the passing moments she'd forgotten all about her tea cup, and the picnic. But decisively she shook the notion of worry from her mind. She did not want to feel worried anymore. She had only just begun to feel carefree and she decided that she was going to stay focused on that route instead. Nonetheless, she leaned forward, swiped her tea up from the ground, and sipped it as if she were in a contest to finish before Malfoy. "Nothing bad is going to happen, Draco. Nothing bad is going to happen because you've passed that stage already." Using her hands as a way of demonstrating her point, Hermione swiped them clear across the sky, "you're way past it! I mean, what could possibly happen to you, hm?"

Malfoy wasted no time in answering her. It was rather clear that he'd been thinking about such awful instances for quite some time. "I could start hearing voices," he quipped instantly.

Although, his answer didn't seem to phase Hermione. "Well, Harry was hearing voices for quite some time, you know. And nothing was the matter with him."

Draco sipped a surplus amount of his hot tea. With the steaming drink still in his mouth, he said sloppily, "ah, but I am not the 'Chosen One', remember? I'm just the insane one."

"Alright, enough." Hermione fixed herself once again, propping her tea cup down on the ground quickly. Then, she grabbed for Draco's cup, removing it from his fingers in a quick motion. "Enough of this talk. The only part of you that is insane is the crazy rubbish that comes out of your mouth, Draco Malfoy." And when Draco gave her no response back, she asked, "do you understand me?"

However, although Draco was not convinced, he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. "Well," he said, ignoring Hermione's serious tone of voice, "yes, ma'am."

Hermione's face flushed. Red all over, she pushed herself entirely back, crossing her arms across her entire chest. Breathing out, she said unamused, "forget it. You _are_ mental!"

"Well, now we're agreeing on something!" Draco said, still teasing her. He leaned forward, though, pulling her arms out of their crossed position. Then, he handed Hermione's drink back to her and said boyishly, "now drink it. I spent a long time putting this together."

Tilting the steaming cup back up to her lips, Hermione rolled her eyes, "psychopath," she accused before she downed the rest of her tea in one sloppy gulp.

"Cheers!" Draco said merrily, matching her conclusive swallow with one of his own. Then, when he noted that Hermione truly wasn't joking, he pushed himself towards her again. "Look, I'm trying, okay?" he said, still smiling. The happy look on his face was, however, something he couldn't get rid of. Even suspecting something so horrible, he couldn't deny that he'd quite liked the place he was currently in. There, sitting next to Hermione, he seemed to have finally found himself what was far better than a happy-medium. "You know," he said, completely changing the subject, "when it gets cold enough, that entire lake is going to freeze over."

Hermione coughed, then, flatly, she said, "oh really? I'd have never guessed."

"Would you have guessed that I'm a brilliant ice-skater?"

A small smile crept across her face. "I'd pay a significant amount of money to see you even attempt to figure skate, Malfoy," Hermione responded, staring at the pond in front of her. It was just getting there, too. The surface of the water was thin with its nice hint of oncoming ice.

"Just wait," Draco said, glad to have lightened the mood significantly.

Finally, Hermione spun around, her face still happily red. She slapped him playfully across the forearm of his thick jacket, accusing rabidly, "you're such a liar!"

"You should have expected that," Draco said, and Hermione leaned back into him, her hands still fiddling in her lap.

"Promise you'll at least try to be a bit more relaxed?" she asked when a couple moments had passed between them.

Malfoy considered this. Maybe, he thought, he'd give it a try. "Promise," he said, though even he could not tell whether or not he was lying.

And so, there he had it. He'd not fallen in love just yet, and he'd not gotten married. Draco Malfoy was still living in his parents house and, at twenty-two years old, he still found himself playing around with a children's toy radio. Anxious, he'd come to expect something awful in his near future, for nothing good had stuck with him for too long of a time. He'd accomplished absolutely nothing he'd set out to do in the first place. He'd found that he'd received almost no social redemption or salvation. Goyle, he'd thought Draco to be crazy; Pansy, she could have cared less. His father was, more or less, on Goyle's side and his mother, well she had been denying every bit of it since the beginning. Furthermore, he saw a numerous amount of therapy sessions in his near future.

Over the past couple days, he'd gained himself a hefty amount of scars, and his left eye was still swollen and bruised. Not only had he lost a vast majority of his pride, but he'd started to feel his sanity slipping along with it. So why wasn't he completely miserable? Anyone sane would have been completely discontent at the very realization of all of that. However, he couldn't manage to be anything of the sort. Through everything he was, quite frankly, quite alright. And despite all this, he rested his back against the thick tree trunk behind him, extended his legs and watched Hermione as she leaned pitched up against him.

So, for now, he'd decided that everything was fine and well. Maybe he'd take Hermione up on her offer; maybe he'd sit back and relax. Take the days in strides. And for a moment, for a very fragment of a second, he thought fondly of himself for even finding the silly toy radio in the first place.

* * *

**Vonne: **Second part up ASAP. I'm working on it RIGHT THIS VERY MOMENT. The more reviews I get on this, the faster I'll be motivated to put it up! :) Let me know what you think! Thanks for all your attention on this! REVIEW!


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